


Í heiti er blóð - The Blood of the Pledge

by neverending_shenanigans



Series: Íss ríkir (Ice Reigns) [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Advent Calendar, BAMF Darcy, Gen, Jötunheimr | Jotunheim, Jötunn Darcy, Kid Fic, Miðgarðr | Midgard, Prequel, References to Norse Religion & Lore, The Lord of the Rings References, alternative universe, Ásgarðr | Asgard (realm)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-30
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-04 05:02:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 26,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5321456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neverending_shenanigans/pseuds/neverending_shenanigans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A pledge to the spirits of the fates is always one of consequence. Several centuries before our time, Odin Borrson made one such pledge, and entwined the threads of his fate with the ones of an enemy child. This is her story, and all the spirits shall witness her fate, for it may be more deeper entwined with the growth of Yggdrasil than even the All-father could have known.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Foreword

**Author's Note:**

  * For [uruvielnumenesse](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=uruvielnumenesse).



Part I 

**í heiti er blóð**

_The Blood of the Pledge_

 

* * *

* * *

 

_**Foreword** _

I can’t believe that I’m actually writing a foreword to a story, but here I am. I hope this will reduce the number of Authors Notes for each chapter, so let’s give this a go.

This story is by half the brainchild of and a a gift to **uruvielnumenesse**. Because she inspired me to write this. In May 2014 she wrote this on tumblr:

_[“Au where Odin found a jotun girl child and raised her as his second heir, while Loki began an internship with Doctor Jane Foster](http://fuckyeahdarcylewis.tumblr.com/post/85237360367/uruvielnumenesse-au-where-odin-found-a-jotun)”_

This gave me ideas and I immediately started writing something, but it grew too big. I was unhappy, because there was so much in the prompt that i wanted to tell, but couldn't put into the story because I simply didn't have the time. So I had to put it away. I spend over a year with the idea lingering, but I never really had the time to get back to it. Then this September I sorted through old WIPs and found a piece of the first draft. I went over it, and then decided to make it my NaNo-Project for 2015, if Uru would give me permission. Which she graciously did – and much more. I think we spend at least two weeks constantly bouncing back and forth ideas, and it was so glorious because Uru is like that. So what started as a 50k-story grew into a four-part-story-series.

Then this November my computer died during NaNo, and my plan to have this done till Christmas and post it as a gift for Uru didn’t quite work. So instead, what I’m doing is turning it into and **Advent Calendar** , in the hopes that the daily wordcount pressure will make me write this in time.

For those if you not familiar with the concept: an Advent Calendar is a sort of christmas-tradition here in some european countries (not sure where else) where every day from December 1st to December 24 kids get a little something - a candy or a toy - to heighten the excitement for the holidays, or to make the waiting more bearable. This story will have 5 chapters, but I will split the story into 24 parts. And every day you get a new part, with the last bit postet on December 24th, if I can make it happen.

 

This first part, “ _Í heiti er blóð – The Blood of the Pledge_ ”, will serve as sort of **Prequel** story, in which you can follow a young Darcy growing up. For the other parts, I will blend the movies and we’ll see where it goes. If everything works as I plan it, we will see the events of Thor, Avengers, Thor 2, possibly Guardians of the Galaxy unfold in this story. Though after that I may stray far from canon material.

This first part also has a lot of **Norse mythology** mixed in, as some of the central characters will show you. It is not exactly the same as the background story we have for Thor in the movies. I hope I won’t offend anyone with it. I hope to achieve a mix of the MCU, some references to the comics, some references to norse mythology and, of course, a lot of stuff that I simply made up.

At least this part also has a “ **Gen** ”-Tag, as there is no pairing. There is a sort of crush in it, but no pairing. I have not yet fully decided what will happen in later parts of this; I hope to get some input for that while I write the parts. There is a lot still up in the air, so feel free to leave me your thoughts. :)

 

Aside from that, what the foreword is also all about is a sort of mini-glossary, that might grow as I write this. I’m not sticking with marvel terminology, because nose-etymology sometimes is just more appropriate. To make it easier, here you go:

* * *

 

**_Glossary:_ **

_Seidr; _

_A mixture between magic and shamanism in norse mythology; closely linked to the threads of fate. It goes beyond simply looking in the future or the past, and can also be used to do a sort of ‘sprit travel’, to heal, to bring luck, to control the weather, to curse someone… the possibilities are vast._

_Jötunn; _

_A Frost Giant. Many are called Jötnar. They live in Jötunnheim._

_The literal translation just means Giants. Many Aesir Scholars believe that the Frost Giants used to be of the same people as the Vanir and the Aesir._

_Dökkálfr;_

_An old word for dwarf. Many were called Dökkálfar; They live in Niðavellir_

_The literal translation would have been ‘dark elve’, as the dwarfs and the elves were considered to be relative, of the blood of the Quendi. The expression is outdated, as a different kind of ‘Dark Elves’ exsist in Svartálfheim. Many dwarfs resent the notion that they used to be elves at one point, and consider the word an insult now._

_Ljósálfr; _

_A Light Elf. Many Light Elves are called Ljósálfar; They live in Alfheim_

_The Light Elves refer do not refer to themselves as Light Elves, but as Eldar. They see themselves as true heirs of the Quendi_

_Svartálfr; _

_A Dark Elf, Many Dark Elves are called Svartálfar; They live in Svartalfheim._

_The literal translation would have been ‘Black Elves’, but the meaning shifted. The Dark Elves refer to themselves as Avari. They do not deny that the Quendi were their ancestors, but they are known as the rebels against the Quendi._

_Aesir;_

_The people of Asgard. One male is called Áss; one female is called Ásynja; many females are called Ásynjur; a mixed or male group is called Aesir._

_Vanr;_

_One of the Magical People. Many are called Vanir. They live in Vanaheim_

_It is said that the Aesir, the Jötnar, the Eldjötnar and the Vanir share common ancestors._

_Eldjötnar_

_The Fire Giants, otherwise known as the Sons of Muspel (Múspellssynir). One is called Eldjötunn. They live in Muspelheim_


	2. Prologue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of the strings that became entwined; a young babe abandoned and a war king longing for peace. Of beginnings.

 

**Prologue**

* * *

 

**One’s back is vulnerable, unless one has a brother.**  
Ber er hver að baki nema sér bróður eigi.

_The Saga of Grettir the Strong, Chapter 82_

 

* * *

 

_“In the old times, when the realms were young and Yggdrasil the world-tree was shaking and bleeding from the many wars that it had to endure, Borr the Mountain, son of Búri, wounded mortally came before the Norns. He made a pledge to protect the nine realms, if fate would have it so, and called upon the spirits of the water to guide him in his path. And the story goes that the Norns accepted him, and Borr spend his life in war. He raised three sons to uphoald his oath, and the greatest and most terrible of them was Odin. He took the burden of his fathers crown when Borr the Mountain crumbled under the grievances of war, and he raised his sword and the people followed. The first realm he conquered was – well, Children?”_

 

_“Vanaheim, Professor.”_

_“Yes, Indeed. The realm of the Vanir, those that the spirits favor. And so greatly was he admired, that the first among the Vanir, Fjörgynn the Fierce, offered him his daughter Frigga in marriage.”_

* * *

The harsh wind scrapped against his skin. The battles had started to take their toll on him, and by now he was so exhausted, that it was more Sleipnir than him who decided their way among these cliffs of ice. The last battle had been won, but never had one battle drawn as much blood as this had. Where he looked, and where he wandered, corpses of different size and color littered the ground. This was a kingdom that was crushed, and Odin knew that to make it one with all the other realms would now be harder than ever. His mother had always counseled him wisely that not all battles could be won with steel and iron, and he feared that the battle against the Jötnar might be one of these.

 

His own queen had advised him such the day before he had left Asgard. She had whispered the words of the spirits to him, and he never once doubted her. But he had forgone her warning. To great had been the need to satisfy his thirst for revenge; to kill what had cost his own mothers life.

 

This, too, his Frigga had warned him about. He was a man too easily tempted by hatred, fear and anger. He knew. And yet this knowledge had not reigned him in. Looking around in the twilight of the soon rising suns, he saw too few people still walking. The snow storm made it impossible for him to even see if those were frost giants or aesir. In the cold darkness, they were all hurt and grieving souls. The sight made him close his eyes and pray to the spirits, that his foolishness had not cost this realm the peace that he had pledged to bring.

 

* * *

_“That’s mother!”_

_“Why, yes. Our Queen was the most beloved among her own people, and a very young woman when she was brought to your fathers. It is said that she was of such beauty, that it even surpassed her great wisdom, that Odin loved her from the moment he first set eyes upon her.”_

_“Mother really is the most beautiful in all the nine realms! And father is the strongest! And I will be better than both of them!”_

_“Now, do not boast, my prince. It is unbecoming.”_

* * *

Behind his closed eyelids danced memories of his queen. The image of her with their two sons, one but a suckling babe, gave him strength and warmth. She always did. He conjured up the memory of the day she was first brought before him. The entourage von Vanaheim had been a great one, and she had lead it, walking first, with her chin raised high, and her golden hair flowing freely, in the way of her people. She had been dressed in so many silken layers, but they had not been able to distract from the deepness of her eyes, wise beyond her years.

 

He had known that this woman, hardly more than a child at the time, was not one that he would ever be able to conquer. She had been a woman that had needed to be won. And when he had shown this effort, she had rewarded him with loyalty; more than he could wish for or deserve. And he repaid her in heeding her words and her council, making her the first in his realm that he would lend his ear to in all matters.

 

It had been her who had advised him to take up the old tradition of the ward again, and bring children from all the realms to Asgard, so that the nine realms might mingle and grow together more strongly. Let love and blood bind what iron and steel once separated.

 

He had followed this council in all the realms. He had brought many children to Asgard, too many to know them all. But when he opened his eyes to the storming snow, he knew that the realm of the Jötnar had bleed too much already. When the snow cleared, he would leave this realm, and return to the well of the spirits, as his father had done, and ask for counsel.

 

* * *

 

_“Frigga the Spendid was also gifted by the spirits, and none surpassed her in her gift for Seidr, the weaving of the thread, the magic of the fates. It is said that she practiced it before each battle that Odin went to, and bore the burden of the future for him, so that she might help him the best she could. And she foresaw that Odin would uphold the oath he had taken with the crown, and nothing could have made her prouder.”_

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

He opened his eyes when he felt that his steed shuddered, and paused. Sleipnir called out to him, and Odin opened his eyes, to find himself before one of the temples of the Jötnar. It was here that their king had held his court. It was here that their king had offered him peace once. On the very steps that he had almost killed the Jötunn Laufey today.

 

He left Sleipnir to wait at the steps and ventured forth. He paused only moments before he reached the inside, where Laufey’s blood was still spilled. It was a shrill sound that cut through the growling of the storm. Inaudible from afar, but clear and desperate now that he was close. It was also, unmistakable, the wailing of a child.

 

Frigga’s whispered words before he had left for this battle returned to him. The fates would offer him something. The fates would offer him a chance to redeem himself, if he was open to it. Conquer your fears and your past, she had whispered.

 

* * *

 

 

_“Professor, is it true that father bested the king of the frost giants all by himself?”_

_“My prince, even if it was your father who crossed swords with Laufey, a king never fights alone. He is but as strong as the army behind him and the loyalty of his people.”_

_“But did he?”_

_“The two of you. If you wish to hear boastful stories of your father’s fights, you may ask for them at the table, so that your father’s shield brothers have a reason to venture their pride. This is your lesson in history, and we are here to observe, so that you may know your ancestors. Now, who can tell me the first law that our King degreed after his return from the war?”_

_“The third law of the book of landvættir. That travel between the realms is to be open in times of peace, and must be conducted by the Peace of the Bifröst. And that those who would violate it would be punished.“_

_"Very good. Who was the first one to swear to uphold this peace?”_

_“King Oropher of Álfheim, the realm of the Ljósálfar. The Light Elves.”_

_“Indeed. Now, where was I? Oh yes, the end of the great war. Our Queen awaited the return of the All-father to Asgard for nine days and nights, even when many expected that he already resided with his father in Valhalla.”._

 

* * *

 

 

When he stepped inside, he saw the babe. It was placed where the throne had been. It wailed terribly, but the voice was already growing more coarse. He picked it up almost instantly, without giving it much thought.

 

He knew that this was Laufey’s child. The child of the king. Had he not been as foolish and had he sought peace, instead of vengeance, this child would have been the ward of Asgard, raised in his court. They would never give one of their own willingly to him now. Nor could a child of theirs be raised safely in Asgard. Not after the hate that had grown between their people for so long.

 

For a moment, Odin considered just laying it back down. It might be more merciful to just let the child die. It could not be of use to him.

 

* * *

 

 

_“Oh, Professor, am I interrupting?”_

_“Brother!”_

_“Oh, Brother, you are back!”_

_“Ah, Prince Baldur. Come in, come in. It is time for their riding lessons soon already. I shall take my leave a little earlier today. We will continue tomorrow.”_

_“Thank you, Professor.”_

_“Do not speak of it, my Prince. Your siblings have missed you gravely. They would not be able to concentrate now.”_

_“Where is your sword brother? Didn’t you bring it with you?”_

_“It’s in my room, Thor. Now, let me see your notes. … Oh, did you bully the good professor into telling you about this again?”_

_“I love hearing about the war. Father was great. I will be like him one day, brother.”_

_“Sure you will. And you, little cricket?”_

_“I like hearing about mother. The professor says she is better with magic than even father.”_

_“Yes, she is. Now, come, I’ll bring you to the stables.”_

* * *

It was this moment, that he felt a tickle on his skin, like a drop of water. There was nothing visible, but it felt like a grasp. And then those red eyes, glistening with tears, looked up at his, and he found the color of his own eyes reflected in there. He was surprised to find that this child, so young, so frail for a frost giants child, possessed magic already. But he should not be. His mother had always told him that the Jötunn Magic was the oldest and strongest in all the nine realms, as natural to them as swimming to a fish.

 

With awe he watched as the child seemed to touch him with its magic, and seemed to imitate him, its skin taking his color, as much as the babes eyes had taken his color. It was a natural, involuntary reacting for his magic to reach out, to stable the child’s power, like he was stabling its neck with his hand.

 

He was appalled, for a moment. And ashamed in the next.

 

This babe had seen the similarities were he could not. It was a child, not a tool. He ought to look at it as such. If he wanted the war to be over, maybe this would need to be his first step. He was king of the nine realms, and he had sworn to protect its entire people. And this child had reminded him of this oath. He had sworn to protect the people – to be the All-father. Being a father to this child would make sure that he never forgot this again.

 

Odin wrapped the little child in his coat, and made sure, that the magic he possessed protected it from the cold. Now the babe finally stopped its wailing. He looked down at the little face, in wonder. “Now, what shall I call you, little girl?”

 

The girl child looked at him, her expression almost as searching as his. “How would you like… Dagný, the bringer of the new day. Would you like that?”

 

* * *

_“Brother, can I ride on your horse today?”_

_“What? No! It’s my turn to ride Hildr again!”_

_“Now, stop fighting or neither of you will ride him. Thor, stop pulling your sister’s hair.”_

_“Ow ow ow. You nose picking brute.”_

_“You slimeworm!”_

_“You bandersnatch!”_

_“You.-“_

_“By the fates, will you two stop it. You are a prince and a pincess of Asgard. Conduct yourself as such.”_

_“…”_

_“Did you just stick out your… hey! Get back here the two of you!”_

_“Try to catch us if you can!”_

_“Yes, try to catch us!”_

_“… what have I done to deserve you two little imps as siblings.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shamelessly referencing Tolkien, because I just know that Uru loves it :)  
> A good deal of the stuff here is made up, but not all of it. Odin's brothers, as well as his father, and Frigga's father are part of norse mythology. And Baldur is Odin's and Frigga's eldest son there as well. Though I'd like to stress that he is not the Baldur that you might know from the comics. He is entirely made up by me.  
> Oh, and the Name Dagný is indeed an old norse name.


	3. Chapter I - 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of a prince returned, and of grave news

 

**Chapter I  
**

 

* * *

 

**A tale is but half told when only one person tells it.**  
Jafnan er hálfsögð saga ef einn segir.

_The Saga of Grettir the Strong, chapter 46_

* * *

 

**1**   


* * *

 

_The first time Frigga holds the little Jötunn child, she sees beyond the rapidly, confused changing of eye and skin colour. She sees innocence, and she feels the bright magic, and she does not doubt that she will grow to love her deeply, as the spirits of the thread had promised. With a soft kiss to the blue forehead, she weaves her magic with the Jötunn one and knows that from this day on, she will protect this little girl. Helping her in maintaining the appearance that she chose when Odin picked her up is just the start of it._

* * *

 

When Vili, son of Borr, returned to Asgard from his travels, he was ushered into a waiting room before he was allowed to proceed to his brother. He suspected at first that it might have something to do with the dirt he was covered in, and he complied. One never stepped in front of a king or a queen looking like one had spent years sleeping in caves, even if that were to be entirely and literally true.

 

But even after he was changed into more appropriate attire, he was not brought forth into the private chambers, but instead brought into the great hall, where food and drink was brought to him – but not his brother.

 

Vili had never been known to be patient. The oldest of Borr’s sons had always been a restless spirit, and he had forfeited his claim to the throne in full knowledge of this. And his brother knew of this as well. So why would Odin make him wait? He started pacing back and forth, when young Volstagg the Lion, son of Vaelor, entered.

 

For a moment Volstagg seemed to pause in surprise when his eyes fell on Vili, but then he crossed the room in great strides, and firmly grasped Vili’s lower arm, who responded in kind. A broad grin split the round face. “My lord, it bears good tides to see you returned to the halls of your ancestors. Asgard was lesser without your presence.”

 

Vili squeezed the young mans arm in genuine affection. “It is good to see a familiar face, and one as unchanged and cheerful as yours.” And indeed. No scars or lines of worry marred the face, and only the fact that his beard had grown long enough to touch his collar bones indicated that any time had passed at all.

 

Volstagg’s voluminous body shook from the deep, bellowed laughter that erupted from within, as he let go of Vili’s arm and stepped back. “I did not remember you to be such a flatterer, my lord. Time has passed in Asgard in your absence as well, and not sparred me. As my wife is apt to remind me.”

 

It took Vili a moment, but then he did indeed remember the warriors young wife. They had been but freshly married, and she had born her first son only months before he had left Asgard. He had not needed the gift of seidr to know that in this union, the woman would be the one to wield the scepter. “Ah, how is Hildegund? Well, I hope?”

 

“Well indeed. And more fearsome than you might remember her, as she bears our second child.” The pride on Volstagg’s face was all too clear, and the affection for his wife shone in his eyes.

 

As he had years before, Vili wondered how this match had come about. He distinctly remembered a young Hildegund swearing by Yggdrasil that Volstagg was the vilest creature in all of Asgard. He might call himself the ‘Lion of Asgard’, but she had had a very different choice set of words for the man. “I congratulate you, my friend. I shall pay my visit to you and your wife, if I may.”

 

“I would have it no other way. Hilde will be pleased to be visited by royalty. Our firstborn, Alaric, is the apple of her eye, and I fear she will ask you to praise him abundantly. He has just started riding.”

 

Of that, Vili really had no doubt. As outspoken as Hildegund had always be, she had also always prided herself of her old bloodline. And he remembered that she had boasted stories of the child, however small he had been, when he had left. Doubtlessly, she was spoiling the boy already. “How old is he now? Of an age with my nephew, I should think?”

 

“Almost, my lord, only a little younger, though of the same height and build. He has his father’s strong bones. Have you met with your nephew yet? Baldur has grown prettily in your absence.“

 

Vili frowned slightly. “I wish I had. My brother has not yet graced me with an audience. It is very unlike him. He used to hold open court, in the tradition of our father.”

 

Volstagg seemed neither troubled nor surprised. He replied breezily. “Ah, yes. You left before the birth of your second nephew, or your niece.”

 

Two children, in the time he had passed? For a moment, Vili was almost taken aback. Vanir women were not known to bear many children, and few pregnancies came to term. Three seemed… highly unlikely. “A nephew and a niece? My brother has been busy, it seems.” A suspicion rose in him. Odin had always been… a favored one, by the ladies of the court. Before his marriage to Frigga, Vili had counted the days that one of these would present the court with his brother’s first bastard. But Odin was also in utter adoration of his queen, and he had seemed to have changed his ways… had he not?

 

If the other man shared any of his sentiment, he did hide it graciously. His face and his words remained jolly. “It is a shame, you just missed the introduction of the wee little princess to court. She is a pretty one, I think she might be taking after your own mother. The queen seems to be as favored by the spirits as ever. But, alas, after the birth of your nephew – Thor – the palace has been closed off. The health of the queen was weak, it has been said, and only now is she starting to recover. If the spirits will it so, court might be opened once more soon.”

 

Odin had truly changed if he had but Frigga through two pregnancies in such a short span of time. Especially if the first of the two had strained her so much already. But Vili knew that Volstagg was reluctant to speak ill of anyone, least of all his king, so he would have to make his inquiries into this matter elsewhere. Maybe the youngest of his brothers would be able to give him insight into this matter.

 

Before he could inquire after Vé, however, the door to the great hall was open once more, and two guards entered. With a bow to Vili, both of them stepped forward, and one spoke. “My lord, the king has asked for your company on the terrace, if you would.”

 

Vili put one hand on Volstagg’s shoulder and gave it a firm squeeze. “It has been good to see you, Volstagg. Do send me a message when I may pay my respects to your wife.” And then he turned to follow the guards to where his brother was waiting.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Volstagg's age gave me some trouble. All Aesir-ages gave me trouble, because the aging-process is so arbitrary.  
> But he is already a somewhat tested warrior when he first joins up with Fandral and Hogun in the comics, and already has heaps of children. So I decided to echo the sentiment, as at least some of it holds true for the MCU as well.  
> As for Vili, I do not have a headcast for him. But i imagine him to be a somewhat grim-looking, muscular guy. Not the kind of guy you would expect to be a prince of asgard.


	4. Chapter I - 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of nightly worries and sleeping siblings.

** 2 **

 

* * *

 

_The first time Baldur is introduced to Dagný he is very hesitant to hold her. Odin worries, that his heir might resent the fact that yet another child had come into their family, that he would try and stake his claim to his parents. It was not unheard of ; Odin vividly remembers his own rivalry with his two brothers. When he first holds her, Baldur never dares to raise his voice above a whisper. But when he does, he says with a smile, that he is glad that his little sister is a much prettier babe than Thor was._

 

* * *

 

Peace was not the natural state of affairs in the nine realms. There had always been conflict and war, either between or within the different kingdoms, and though all of them now paid homage to Odin, the potential for discord had not been lessened. Asgard was far from many of those realms, and it was too easy to forget your allegiance if it was out of sight.

 

Odin’s father Borr had been faced with this task centuries ago as well, and he had send out his sons to the realms that had been on his side. Vili had grown to love travelling, even beyond the nine realms. No one knew the universe as well as Vili did, and whenever Vili returned to Asgard, he didn’t stay for long, or he would grow restless, for the universe seemed to call for him.

 

Vé had not felt at home on the road, and at the first opportunity, he had found a realm that he favoured. Álfheim seemed to be just the place for him, and it had not surprised Odin that he had settled there, shortly after the death of their father.

 

Borr the Mountain had travelled the realms as well, as that had been the best way to quell conflicts, and left Asgard to be ruled by his queen consort, and later in the hands of Odin. Odin had learned more from his mother about ruling than he had from his father, and he believed that a strong Asgard was as important as making Asgard known to the realms. So unlike his father, Odin chose to remain in Asgard and send out others to represent his realms. Vili was just one of the many ambassadors that he had chosen.

 

Now, in the middle of the night, standing in front of the bed that Thor and Dagný were asleep in, staring down on these tiny, sleeping faces, he wondered if one day he would be sending out these two as well. Baldur was his heir, so when he reached a certain age, he would make him stay with him, and teach him to rule like his mother had once done. But would Thor and Dagný be like Vili, and travel the realms? Or would they settle? Would they favour the court?

 

Vé had offered that Thor could be raised in Álfheim, with him, for a while. It would do the boy good to get to know some of the realms early, so their customs would be familiar to him. And the people of Álfheim would see him as one of theirs more easily, and feel more strongly for Asgard. The light elves favoured their independence too much. It was a good plan, Odin knew.

 

His father had failed in keeping alliances; he had forced Traditions of the Aesir on the realms, and inspired distrust and hatred. Vé and Vili had warned him about the growing frustration and the too tight bond between Jötunnheim, Nilfheim and Niðavellir, but his father had not listened to his sons.

 

Odin had no intention of falling into his fathers steps. He had been blessed, when Vanaheim had given him Frigga, and his queen had taught him that loyalty was the foundation of any strong bond. He needed to inspire loyalty. But Frigga was also of the opinion that the strongest bonds were the bonds of family, and she would be unhappy if he were to send Thor away too soon.

 

And, Odin admitted in the darkness to himself, he, too, did not want to let them go too early. He touched both of their cheeks lightly. Thor mumbled something in his sleep, and kicked out with one of his tiny legs, and Odin smiled. Dagný slept too deep for once to react at all, but the magic in her recognized him, and reached out to him the same way the babe would if she were awake. His fingertips were tickled by it.

 

Retreating, he made sure to silently close the door. When he turned around, he was not surprised to find his queen stepping out from the shadows. Her hair was flowing loose, and she was wrapped in a thin gown, obviously raised from sleep when he had left their chambers. Frigga always had had a light sleep.

 

“Thor is with his sister again,” Odin mumbled, as he stepped closer to his wife, and pressed his lips against her temples for a moment. She reacted in wrapping her arms around his mid. “I should remind him again that he is to sleep in his own chambers.”

 

“Do let him be, my dear,” Frigga said, and he heard the faint amusement in her voice that she always displayed when her toddler son showed how overly fond he was of his little sister. “There will be enough time for him to sleep in his chambers when he is older, and Dagný wakes far less with him at her side. Their affection is mutual already.”

 

Odin hummed in agreement, and for a moment they just remained like that, arms wrapped around each other, resting in each other’s warmth. Then Frigga stepped back to look at him, and he did not break her gaze. Even if he would, his face would betray him. He could not keep anything from her.

 

“You are restless ever since you spoke to your brother. What news did he bring from the realms that have you too agitated to sleep?”

 

Odin shook his head, if only ever so slightly. “Not from within the realm. It is what is beyond Yggdrasil that has me worried.” He paused for a moment. He is reluctant to speak of it at all, but he certainly owes it to Frigga. He vowed not to keep a secret from her when he took her hand in marriage.

 

“Vili has brought news from the Nova Empire and their conflict with the Kree. But I am afraid that it is not within our reach, and not something that we should involve ourselves with for now. Let us not speak of it.”

 

Frigga knew that there was more to it, but she was too kind to press him for more. And he was grateful for it. There would be a time when he would have to get involved. If the news that Vili brought were to be believed, some of the Kree people had taken an interested to the nine realms.

 

He had no doubt that they would sooner or later make a move towards them, and seek to take what powers were within the world tree. Once, in what felt a like a different life time, he had given his right eye so he might know the truth about these powers. There were days when he regretted this burden. And surely, it was not one that he needed to add to the weight that Frigga herself carried.

 

Silently, as he guided his queen back to their chambers, he prayed to the spirits. Prayed, that they might give them just a few more centuries of peace. Give him and his queen time to raise their children. Give him time to be the father that his own father never was, and allow him to keep the real world and its worries at bay for them.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I raise my glas to those who see what I'm hinting at here. But don't worry too much, that is a thing for the far future.  
> Baldur could probably be considered to be seven or eight by human standards, Thor maybe three years, and Darcy barely a toddler.


	5. Chapter I - 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of distant fathers and scheming mothers; of parentage showing.

** 3 **

 

* * *

 

_The first words that little Dagný speaks carry a decided lisp. No one could tell what the words mean, but it quickly manifests itself that one of those words is her own name – though she pronounces in an obscure lisp that sounds like ‘Dathny’ or ‘Darcy’. It takes on quickly, and turns into a pet name for the princess that spreads all over Asgard, though Odin keeps them mostly shielded from outside gazes. Frigga knows that he worries for the secret of her parentage to show itself and she knows that it will take long for this worry to subside._

* * *

 

 

Odin stood skeptical, as he watched from a balcony of the palace as Vili and Baldur set little Thor on a pony. Then Baldur sat behind him, so that Thor may ride for the first time. Thor was a very spirited boy, and was not showing as much fear of being so high, and on this great animal, as he should. Fear taught children to be weary, and careful, and mindful. This boy was a reckless one, he could tell.

 

And though he tried to look stern, the thought amused him. He heard his mother’s voice in his ear, telling the tale of how reckless he himself had been once. It had been Vili who had brought it to his attention the day after his arrival, when Odin had introduced his brother to his youngest children: Thor was much like Odin had been, and for that, he was fond of Thor. More than he should be, probably.

 

Baldur was not much like him; he was a quiet boy, very bright, and a thinker. He spent a lot of his time reading, or at least reading out to his younger siblings. And recently, the boy had grown to look paler, and he had heard him complain about nightmares. What frightened him so, that he did not sleep? At his age, Odin had not been afraid of much in this world. He had begged his way into sword training already. Thor reminded him much more of himself, and he already felt more of a kinship to this one, although he had just started running.

 

“Why are you watching your sons from up here, beloved?” Frigga spoke up, as she stepped up besides him, little Dagný sitting on her hip, too busy with a wolf made of wool to look up at her father. “You could be down there with them. I am sure both Thor and Baldur would be pleased. They thirst for your attention.”

 

And that, too, was true. It warmed his heart when the boys sought him out. Baldur, to tell him of something new that he learned; Thor mostly, because he was still exploring the palace, now that he could walk more surely. And yet again, he was compelled to compare their childhood to his own. “It is time that our sons have companions other than each other and their sister.”

 

Frigga raised her eyebrows at that, but said nothing. Pressed by the silence, he continued to speak. “I have asked Tyr to pick worthy children in Thor’s age group, and tutors in basic subjects, and have him taught with them. And Baldur shall begin his sword training.”

 

He expected that Frigga would object to this, but for quite a while, his queen remained silent. Then she sighed, and he was surprised to find that she nodded, and bore a sad smile. “I am afraid that you are right. They are growing so quickly in this age. It will do them well to learn to get along with peers.” She reached out, and put one of her hands through his arm. “Only, I know it is the sentimental folly of a mother, but may I assist Tyr in choosing the companions for our son? It would make the transition of not having him by my side a bit easier.”

 

He loved his queen, but Odin was no fool. Frigga had always liked to pull threads, of any kind. He knew that she had her own aim, and she might have been trying to pull his strings. The expression on her face was too innocent. But he could not think of a reason not to grant her this wish. Whatever her plans were, as long as they did not interfere with his, he saw no reason not to indulge her. So he nodded. “You do know them best. I will direct Tyr towards you.”

 

“Thank you, my dear,” she said, and reached up lightly kiss his cheek, before she let go and left him to watch over his sons once more. Only days later did he see why Frigga had asked this of him, when the group of children was made up of girls as much as of boys, and many of those children were wards from different realms. It was not a choice he approved of, as she well had known, but he was also not one to go back on his word.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I'm just going to mention it, but I'm very conflicted about the fact how Odin grew to be such a bad father. This chapter is my hesitant steps towards a sort-of explanation. He's simply not good with it being close and showing affection; possibly because he never really had a close bond to his father. He knows how to be a king, because that what he was for as long as he can remember, but being a father is difficult for him. Baldur he doesn't get, and Thor he gets too much, and his deal with Darcy... ah, well, we'll see. Much later on. It's partially her own heritage.
> 
> At any rate, this one was terribly short. Surprise, today you're gonna get another! See you in a couple of hours.


	6. Chapter I - 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of wild soulds and wandering thoughts; of love and fear and all in-between.

** 4 **

 

* * *

 

_The first time that Frigga leaves Asgard for Vanaheim, she takes her children with her. Dagný has just started to walk, Thor has started his first lessons in the script and Baldur will soon start his sword training; and she wishes for them to know this part of their family before they are too old to hold it dear. Another reason is that the she wished for the ward from her realm, Hogun, to keep in touch with where he came from. She knows that is a sentimental notion, but her home is part of her, and she wishes for the young boy to have the same chance._

* * *

 

 

When little „Darcy“ had started walking more surely, she was often left to roam the palace on her own, much the same way that Thor had once; much the same way that Vili, Odin and Vé had. Children saw their world best through their own little eyes and though guidance could enhance it, to understand it, they needed to explore on their own sometime.

 

And yet, where Odin had not been worried about his princeling roaming around, in the first weeks of her free wandering, more often than not he caught himself adrift, while he was giving an audience. He wondered what this little child, with her blue eyes, the brown curls, the bright spirit and the voice that was oft loud enough to carry through the palace – in cheerful laughter or a shriek – was up to. Whatever she found, she never hesitated to let her opinion of it be known, and often when he heard her voice nearby, he inevitably turned his head.

 

Frigga had resumed to sit with him during the audiences, like she had done before Darcy had entered their world, and she often seemed to notice when his thoughts left the room, and she caught him with a gentle, but firm nudge, and guided his attention back to his subjects.

 

One evening, she questioned him on it. Was he afraid that something would hurt her in this palace, or that he would one day find a frozen servant. Was he afraid for her or of her? The question startled him more than he expected, and it angered him. He blamed her for even thinking of something like that, and instead of giving a reply, he had left the room. But a small part of his mind was not convinced that his answer – whatever it might have been – could have been truthful. He dared not venture into this part of his mind.

 

But he acknowledged that it could not go on like this, so to help himself put his mind at ease, he send Geri and Freki, the wolves he had raised as a boy, to accompany and guard her, without being too obvious about it. The plan, he found, backfired. Darcy absolutely adored his beasts, and it seemed that they, too, grew beyond fond of her.

 

It became not an unusual sight to see the slightly wobble-stepped toddler walking through the palace, flanked by the two beasts, one hand buried in the fur of each, and happily babbling away, telling them something that probably made sense to her alone. And happily so. By the end of the month, both wolves had taken to sleeping in front of her chamber doors.

 

And what more, Frigga openly laughed about it, when she found out; whereas Baldur seemed to absolutely love it. He compared it to a story of the warrior woman Skaði, which he seemed to have loved, in which the brave woman had tamed a pack of wild wolves to accept her as their queen. Not the kind of story that would befit a young princess of Asgard.

 

And even Vili, during his weeklong stay in Asgard, had seemed to be charmed by the small, toddling girl and the great beasts in her company. Though his brother did not seem to entertain the idea of ever having a wife and children himself, he had admitted outright to Odin that when Darcy was old enough, he would not mind her and her beasts accompanying him on his travels. She was a wild spirit, and the least like her father, and that was something Vili said he appreciated greatly.

 

Thor seemed to be the only one who shared Odin’s unhappiness with the situation, but in his case, it seemed to be more out of jealousy. Of whom exactly, in this scenario, Odin was not sure. Maybe the boy did not know it himself. But either way, he had no right to be jealous.

 

Ever since he had been introduced to some of his peers, as Odin had suggested, Thor had taken to separating his time evenly between his friends and his sister. Dagný was still not allowed to leave the palace, and most of his new friends did not seem fond of playing in there. That put the young prince in a tight spot. Only few of the boys and girls that Frigga had picked to be Thor’s companions seemed willing to play in the palace, so that Thor might include his little sister in their shenanigans.

 

More often than not, though, Darcy was left behind, entertaining herself, or accompanying her mother. That she had then replaced Thor’s company by the company of the wolves was not something that her brother should begrudge her. And Odin probably shouldn’t either.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I loved writing this one. Geri and Freki are cool companions to Odin, and I wouldn't pass up on the chance to make them Darcy's companions, to be honest. They're such big beasts you guys. And also, who doesn't like to call a father out on his double standards? Frigga sure does. (I love Frigga. Does it show?)


	7. Chapter I - 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of a first loss and a first bit of magic

** 5 **

 

* * *

 

_The first time Darcy sneaks out, she does it without noticing. She had followed the nurses around pretending to be invisible and was surprised to find that she was so good at pretending, that she could sneak unseen past the guards to follow the nurses, when they went to buy new supplies. She has only seen the town from the balcony before, and she is torn between the feeling of fright and intrigue. Before she can decide what to do, she sees Thor come back to the castle to come play with her - which she likes. So she turns._

* * *

 

 

Darcy was too young to be able to tell what is going on. But she was perceptive enough to notice, that her big brother was not the same anymore. He used to spend his time between lessons with her. He had taught her how to write her own name. When she had had nightmares, she used to come to his room, and he told her stories of wondrous warriors and mighty maidens. And above all, Baldur always gave the best hugs.

 

But he didn’t do this anymore and Darcy was not sure why he didn’t. He also never helped Thor with his lessons, or trained him with his sword. Instead, he spent his time between his lessons in the library. He was often riding with his horse, and he always went alone. And sometimes, he looked at her, and it was very weird. He looked the same way at Thor, too. Secretly, Darcy wondered if they were mean to him and didn’t know it. When she hugged him after he did well in a training, he never even really hugged her back.

 

But when she had asked mother, she had said that Baldur was just very busy. He had a lot to learn, because he was not a small child anymore; she should not be angry at him for it. When she had asked father, he said that Baldur was going to be king someday, and that her brother just started to behave like it.

 

She really tried not to be hurt, or angry, but it was not easy. Thor was only angry a little bit, he said, and that he would become just as good as Baldur, so Baldur won’t have to do so much anymore some day, and would have time for them again.

 

So Thor started telling her stories, when she woke up at night and could not sleep. His stories were about gruesome creatures and malevolent monsters, and they didn’t help with sleeping, but Darcy did not complain. Thor did give hugs that were quite good as well.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, i really didn't like writing this one. Oh well.  
> The good new is, today you'll get three pieces. Because I want to get to the new Chapter for Saint Nick's. See you in a bit!


	8. Chapter I - 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of parental disagreements; Of secrets and lies.

** 6  
**

 

* * *

 

_The first time that her mother asks Darcy to join her in her special room, Darcy is nervous. Nobody is allowed into the room except for her mother, and when she is in there, there are guards outside making sure that she goes undisturbed. But this night, Frigga takes Darcy’s hand and leads her to the room, and then she shows her something that she calls seidr; magic. Darcy is ecstatic when she learns that one day, she can do all of this, and from this day on, her mother will teach her a little. Her father, though, is horrified._

* * *

 

 

Sitting on a chair on the balcony was how Frigga found Odin. He had not joined her to sleep earlier, after he had his conversation with Baldur. She had expected that he would come and tell her, but he never did.

 

She had asked him to talk to Baldur tonight. For a while now she had watched her son change, and she had seen him worried, but the spirits of the thread had not answered her call, and she knew that even if they had, as his parents they had to reach out to him, whatever it was that had introduced this change.

 

Odin had been reluctant to go, saying that boys just changed when growing up sometimes. But now he looked displeased, though his gaze was fixed on the stars, and not anything in particular. Absentmindedly, his hand was running over the black feather dress of one if his ravens on his arm.

 

Frigga stepped behind him, and placed one hand on his head. Without speaking, she started running the tips of her fingers through his hair, and he leaned back into the touch. Frigga had always loved his hair, and that he kept it long.

 

Then the raven on his arm croaked and took off into the night. Odin seemed to follow him with his gaze, before he finally made a small sound, and leaned forward. Frigga remained where she was, and after a moment Odin turned around to face her.

 

“Tomorrow, I will send word to Álfheim. The people of the forest have called for our attendance in a tradition of theirs, and I will ask my brother to come and fetch our son beforehand, so that he may serve as our ambassador. He will remain there, for a time.”

 

“For a time? The Gates of Summer only last a mere week. What have you in mind?” Only after she spoke did Frigga realize, that Odin’s plans for Baldur had nothing to do with the elven tradition. “What has transpired between the two of you? Even our younger children have noticed that something is off, and now, after you talked to him, you plan on sending him away?”

 

Upon her words, Odin rose from his place, and walked over to the balustrade, his back towards her. She could see the rigid, tense set of his shoulders, but she had started running out of patience for him. He planned to send her first born to a foreign realm, punishing for an offence that not even she, his mother, knew about.

 

“He will enjoy his stay. His professor has informed me that Baldur longs to see the realms, and my brother will take good care of him. King Oropher will see it as a great gesture of honor to have a prince of Asgard in his court. It will strengthen our alliance. And a future king of Asgard should know and feel for his subjects. I would have had to send him out to the realms sooner or later. Álfheim is a good beginning for him.”

 

Frigga stared at her husband, for a moment, before she pressed her lips together tightly, and crossed her arms. “Do not take me for a fool, Odin Borrson. We both know that you are fleeing a conflict with our son. Do not think you can as easily flee from one with me.”

 

Odin turned around to her, and looked at her sharply. “My son needs to be taught obedience, and he needs to be reminded of what he is. And he has accepted my plans already.”

 

Frigga did not avoid his cold, blue eyes. She raises her chin slightly. “Our son. He is _our_ son.” A silent plea as well as a warning carries in her words, and it did not fall on deaf ears. She could see Odin’s shoulders sag slightly. However, this was not one of their usual conflicts on matters of politics. His face remained resolved.

 

“Be that as it is. I will not explain myself further. In three days time, Baldur will be brought to Álfheim. And he will return when I send for him.”

 

And then, Odin simply left, and Frigg remained standing alone on the Balcony.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second of Three Update for Today.  
> I still love Frigga. Obviously. And I love Baldur, and I cannot wait to reveal what is going on here. But that'll take quite a time to be revealed. Urgh.
> 
> On this note, I'm very sorry that I only uploaded one yesterday when three were promised.... Well.... There's more for today?
> 
> On a side note - Darcy is slowly being taught magic by now, as it started to manifest. That's what happened in the beginning of the last chapter, where Darcy really did turn herself invisible. Odin doesn't like it, because she should not be able to do that. Frigga is more calm, she thinks it is better to teach the child to wield her magic than to hope that it'll go away if ignored.


	9. Chapter I - 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of the first heartbreake, and the beginning of an end.

** 7   
**

 

* * *

 

_The first time Darcy meets her uncle Vé, she is surprised to notice how much unlike his brothers he is. He is lean, and tall, and…. Funny. He smiles a lot, and he seems very open and kind, and jolly. She instantly loves him, and he seems to like her a great deal as well. He can do a little bit of magic, and he is very impressed by what she can do already. He praises her a lot. And he even manages to distract her from the fact that he is here to take her brother away from her._

* * *

 

 

The day Baldur left was the first one he was himself again in months. It was hard to tell if he just pretended to genuinely look forward to Álfheim, or if it was just the fact that he went away from home for a longer while that had him excited. That he would be staying with Vé might help, as he had always been the one in the family with whom Baldur got along best.

 

Still, to see him so happy at going away made it painfully obvious how much these last months had changed their family. The boy should not be so happy to leave his parents, the home that he knew and his beloved siblings behind. For whatever reasons there may be. And she desperately wanted to press for these reasons.

 

But even if it broke her heart, Frigga knew that all she could do was to play along. If he was pretending, then she had no right to take this way of saving his face from him. And if he was not pretending, she didn’t want to have him worry about her.

 

So she smiled, as the gracious and proud mother and queen, as Baldur was given a sword and an orange cloak, embroidered with the emblem of Asgard, by his father, in front of the whole court. Her little son held his head up high as he stepped back and stood next to his Uncle Vé.

 

When he made his vow that he would represent Asgard as an ambassador to his best abilities, Frigga felt a little hand slip into her own. She merely squeezes it, and didn’t look down to her little daughter. She already knew how Darcy felt about her brother leaving. But Darcy was brave, and she held back until the ceremony was over, and the whole court moved on to a last feast before, with night fall, the procession to Álfheim would leave.

 

On the feast, Thor never left his brothers side, and made him give him hundreds of promises; a promise to write, a promise to bring him something back, a promise to capture one of the mighty stags of Álfheim, a promise to let him visit, … it was an endless chain.

 

And for every promise that Thor begged of his brother, a tear rolled down little Darcy’s cheeks, as she sat on her mother’s lab, hiding her face in her chest. Frigga whispered empty words in Darcy’s ear, and tried to calm her with her voice, as much as with her hands drawing patterns on the little shoulders. But for one so young, the concept of time was still so hard to grasp. To know that her brother would return one day would not give her comfort, until the day that he did.

 

At one point in the evening, her uncle Vé tried to lift her spirit with a little show of magic, but it was barely enough to make her lift her head, not to lift the corners of her mouth. At a later point, her father tried to make her go to bed early, but this was only enough to raise her voice, so that she may vehemently resist the notion. Only when Baldur himself came over, and asked if she wanted to walk with him through the garden a bit was it enough to lift her spirit for a while.

 

And in that glimpse of a moment, when Baldur held the door open for his little sister, and he looked down on her, did his mask seem to splinter, and for a moment Frigga saw the sadness in his green eyes. And as much as she was happy to see that he was not truly indifferent to leaving his siblings behind, her heart broke for him, and she detested that she was so helpless.

 

If only he had confided in her. If only he had come to her for guidance. She was sure that she would have found a different way, than to remove him from the home he had known all his life. But he had chosen to remain silent, until his father had forced him to speak. And now things had come as they were. She wondered, silently, as she observed her own husbands eyes following Baldur with a grave and grieving expression, if things would ever be again as they had been not long ago.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There, it's done. Chapter I is done.  
> From now on, the pace will change a bit. In this first chapter, I needed for Darcy to grow so I could have her as a narrator. From now on chapters will be more coherent in time, at least until chapter 4, i think. Chapter 4 Is really not that fleshed out yet, and might contain timeskips again. For very different reasons, though.
> 
> On a totally different and very random note; I kind of always see Vé with deeply red, long hair and only a bit of a stubble, no beard, unlike his brothers. He's the good-looking one, or something.  
> (Oh, and again, LotR-reference for Uru <3)


	10. Chapter II - 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of growing up and growing expectations

 

**Chapter II  
**

* * *

 

 **Where fault can be found, the good is ignored.**  
Fár bregður hinu betra ef hann veit hið verra.

_The Saga of Burnt Njal, chapter 139_

 

* * *

 

_“Brawl with a pig and you go away with his stink,” is what Rán gives Darcy as a bit of advice when she has her first fight. Frigga looks somewhat disappointed, but her friend has raised three daughters already, and is unfathomed. Darcy has a scratch marks on her cheek, and a tear in her dress, as well as tears in her eyes; but the worst is the humiliation that she feels. So she thinks she gets what her mother’s friend is trying to tell her. The girl who called her too tiny to play with them was a pig._

* * *

 

Today was the day that Darcy would be brought unto the battlefield for the first time. Like her brothers before her, she put on her armor and honed her weapons and was expected to reach glory, make her name be known and to showcase the latest fruit of an old family tree. Her virtues would be tested, as would be her talent and skills, and all she had learned and been taught. She was to be judged, and then, hopefully, deemed worthy. Like her brothers.

 

Only that her brothers had been tested quite differently, Darcy thought, with a sigh. Envy was unbecoming, as her mother kept telling, but Darcy couldn’t help it. She found that her brothers had had the easier way. They only had to focus on one battle. Her challenge was quite a different one.

 

Her armor would not be of steel, or even gold, but of silks. No chains would be wrapped about her torso to give protection, but around her neck to add constraint in movement. Her weapons would not be swords, or forked lances, but mere silver forks, or at best, a forked tongue. The only muscles that Darcy could flex to impress where the muscles of her wit, and the only treasure she could gain was the treasure of loyalty and, perchance, a token of a favor. And her foes would not be monsters of any kind, but rather those that she should naturally consider allies, for they were of her own kind, and perpetually engaged in the same battle.

 

Of course, she had been trained with the sword. Of course she had been trained to fight. All of royal blood were, regardless of their sex. And yet. And _yet_ they thought that it might be more important for her to win this battle. If she failed this battle, her prowess on the battlefield would not be considered of any worth.

 

Because her battle was the battle of the court, and though there was no bloodshed, one could sustain deeper wounds, and scars more lasting – and crippling – than in combat by steel. She had learned as much already, as young as she was, from the ladies attending to her mother. Those who had put hours into the effort of preparing her for this war, as old as the worlds, Darcy thought gloomily. They had put so much effort into teaching her tactics and tricks, warning her of traps and treasons and almost succeeded in instilling fear in her.

 

But she was Dagný Odinsdottir, and, more importantly, Dagný Friggasdottir. There were still tales of how her mother had bested them all; it was in her doubly in her blood not to be brought down by anyone. Or anything.

 

Her chest might be flat, and her first blood had not yet come; to some she might count a child still, but her wits were advanced and her upbringing her advantage. She knew her worth and had no need to cower before anyone. Certainly not the ladies of the court.

 

Not before Hnoss and Gersemi, daughters of Freya, as graceful and lethal as the wild cats that accompanied them; not before Nótt the Vivacious, with eyes as black as coal, and a humor to match it; not before Dúfa, Unn and Bylgja, daughters of Rán, who possessed their mothers charm and strength; not before Sigyn, who was so genteel that her smile made the fiercest warrior blush; and certainly, most of all, not before Sif, the proud, whose golden hair was as bright as her mind.

 

She was not below any of them. She was born to be a queen, her father had said this morning, when he had kissed her brow and given her over to her mothers underlings like she was to be sacrificed. But yes, she was. She was born at court. She was born ready for this.

 

She had seen politics at play all her life, and she knew all of them, and their parents. There were no strangers waiting for her. And yet.

 

And _yet_.

 

Standing before those great, golden portals, she was very much aware of the weight of the cape of blue velvet draped over her shoulders. The same kind of blue that her gown was made of, the same kind of blue reflected in her eyes, the same kind of blue in her fathers eyes, and in her grandmothers eyes before that. The color would be her color from today on.

 

Again, a tactical choice, as it had been her grandmothers chosen color as well, and there was no one in that room who didn’t know it. And the calm, cool color was to compliment the warm, smoldering tones that her brothers had chosen before her. The color had weight to it. And right now, standing here, Darcy felt it. She felt all of that weight.

 

And it was paralyzing. It made her knees weak and her head light, and her shoulders sag. It made her waver from one side to the other, step from one foot unto the other, made her flex and unflex her hands. As if that could make the thing fall off.

 

And the she exhaled loudly, and reached her hands to her chest, to feel her heart beat. It was maddening. This was madness.

 

Beneath her fingertips she felt the embroidery that her mother, personally, had made for this occasion. White flowers, the same that were entangled in her braid. Flowers chosen by her mother, like her colors. These flowers, her mother had explained as she had been working on the dress, were known to blossom only in the coldest regions of the nine realms. In Vanaheim, where her mother was from, there was only one place altogether where they grew, on top of a mountain, and it was a sacred place to her mother’s people.

 

When she had carefully put the flowers on this gown, she had hummed a pretty song of the pretty flower that could contest any hardship, and thrive from it, and of the blessing that it was to those who had ventured into the regions were it grew, and served as a symbol of hope in hard times.

 

Like that would not be another meaningful, laden thing of added weight to her. This armor of hers.

 

“Stop fidgeting, my love,” spoke her mother next to her, and instantly Darcy stopped running her fingers over the flowers. She looked at her mother, sheepishly, for she knew that she should be the embodiment of calm and serene grace today, and she was probably not doing her proud right now. She knew that this was important for her.

 

The last weeks of preparation for this day – her birthday, her introduction, her formally being accepted as a member of court – had all been in her mother’s hand. She had wielded the scepter of a war general, so to speak, and Darcy had rarely in her live seen her be as stern as she had seen her mother these weeks. Nothing had been done without her say in the matter, and all eyes had been turned to her, everyone seeking her approval.

 

But now her mother was her calm self again, and her expression was soft, and warm, and kind. Her mother extended her hand to her, and Darcy put her hand in it, so that her mother may squeeze it for a moment. “Don’t be nervous. You will do well.”

 

Darcy found it hard to see where her mother took that faith from. It wasn’t like she had done very well in the preparations. Once her mother had actually admitted that too, saying that growing up with only boys around might have given her somewhat brash manners, but that had been directed at her father, oddly enough, and not at her. “And what if I won’t?”

 

“You will,” Frigga said, and she smiled as she said it, too. “You will be yourself tonight, and the whole court will see what I see every day.”

 

Darcy snorted, and made a face. “I thought that I was strictly not to be myself. That’s what Folly said, you know.”

 

“Darcy,” her mother said, and now her tone was just ever so slightly reproachful, but her smile staid. “You are a wonderful, warm-hearted, loving, and bright young girl, who I could not be more thankful to have as a daughter. _That_ is what they will see.”

 

At least, that did make Darcy smile. And it did make her just a bit calmer. “Mothers have to love their kids. You have no choice. But that won’t make them love me.”

 

For a moment, Frigga seemed to look at her more intensely, and Darcy was a bit surprised when suddenly, her mother made a few steps towards her, and she was engulfed in a tight hug mere seconds later. “No, but _you_ will make them love you. They won’t have a choice but to love you.” Then her mother pressed a kiss on top of her head, and stepped back again, so she could hold her at arm length, and look her into her eyes. “Right?”

 

Darcy bit her lip for a moment, but then she nodded. “Right.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost the whole chapter will take place during one evening. Just so you're prepared. That's what I meant when I said that the pace will change. We now finally have a protagonist!Darcy again. Age-wise, she would probably be about the human-equivalent of ten to twelve.
> 
> Aside from that, this whole ordeal is totally made up. Just so you know. There's no basis whatsover for any of this in the comics or mythology or history. Aside from the characters that i mentioned. They are all taken from mythology, though I took some liberties, as one usually does.


	11. Chapter II - 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of rivalries, first enemies and friends.

 

** 2   
**

 

* * *

 

_“To be without silver is better than to be without honor,” is what her teacher tells Darcy after she lost her first battle. It had been a small tournament among the kids that were being tought; even some of Thor’s age had been among them. But Darcy lost woefully. Her Teacher surely meant the words to quench her envy at the boy who held up the silver coin he received as a price – but it wasn’t about the silver coin for her. She had just wanted to be a little like Thor. She so should have used a little magic._

* * *

 

 

The ceremony had a strict order of events that were to be followed. When the golden portal was opened for her and her mother, she was introduced by her full name, half a recital of her family tree, and then the oldest lady of the crowd stepped forward to greet her and welcome her formally. There was a lot of formality.

 

She had to _formally_ thank everyone for coming, she was _formally_ asked questions about her interests and her talents and whatever else they came up with, she was _formally_ introduced to the older women first, friends of her mothers, and then _formally_ introduced to the girls of her own age, and then _formally_ introduced to every women or girl in between. (Only no younger girls - she was the youngest, as she was painfully aware.)

 

Then there was a lot of _formal_ walking through the room, to show of your posture, accompanied by the women of her own age. They engaged in _forma_ l pleasantries, and after that the men of the court would be brought in, and with a _formal speech_ she and her mother would open the festive, which would go all night, probably.

 

Right now, Darcy had finished walking with Gersemi and her giant panther. The girl was... well, something? She loved hunting, that much Darcy had gathered, and she had kindly complimented Darcy's dress. But she also had been very rigid, and Darcy was not sure if anything she had said had been heartfelt at all.

 

And right as Gersemi had let go of her arm, the next girl took it. Unn had been charming as expected, and done most of the talking, which had made Darcy relax just a bit.

 

Then there had been Sigyn, who had not talked much at all, but had constantly watched Darcy – which had made her as stiff as before, and nullified what the pleasant Unn had done.

 

And then there was Sif.

 

Sif had not even feigned a smile, when she had taken Darcy’s arm and started walking with her – no, walking was not right word for it. It had felt like a march. She had not said a word at all, even when Darcy had tried to offer the formalities. But the look of contempt had spoken volumes, and as soon as Sif had let go of Darcy’s arm, Darcy had fled the room for a moment, excusing herself.

 

She did not much like Sif herself, she had to admit, but she really had no idea what she could have done to her to earn such a treatment. They barely knew each other, and they only knew each other at all, because that Sif was among the friends of her brothers that were taught with him. Thor had praised her a lot, said that she was smart, and knew all about the old wars and battles. Darcy only knew that she had once seen Sif beg Tyr to include her in the fighting class of the boys as well. That was also the only time they had really exchanged words.

 

And now this. She could not have earned that in any way at all. Sif was being unfair to her. Darcy was not sure if she felt angry or afraid. But she had no time to sort out her feelings; her mother had sent a servant to fetch her again.

 

As soon as she returned to the room, the business of walking about picked up again, and one stepped forward to grab her arm before Darcy could have decided with whom to walk next.

 

It was Nótt, who had her dark hair piled up in a really grown up hair do that Darcy found she was just a bit envious of. Nótt was a little older than Darcy, and she seemed so grown up already. She was almost of an age with Baldur, wasn’t she? Darcy tried to remember, as Nótt tugged her arm underneath Darcy's and displayed a bored expression.

 

Darcy took the initiative, remembering the advices of her mothers ladies in attending. "Thank you kindly for honoring me with your presence tonight," she said, aiming for a pleased and grateful tone. It came out pretty wooden, and from the look that Nótt shot her, she could tell. But there was also a slight twitch on her cheek, as if she had been tempted to smile.

 

"Oh, please. Let's not waste our times on this dumb game, shall we?”

 

Darcy stiffened. By the fates. Had Nótt judged her already, and she had left a bad expression? Another one? Darcy pressed her teeth hard on each other, as not to scream out in frustration. The other girl continued speaking, not noticing Darcy’s expression.

 

“I know that this is tedious business to you, as it was to me. I can tell, I watched you pretty much all evening so far. And talking about the weather won’t make this any more pleasant and only more of a waste of time.”

 

Her words almost made Darcy stop, with surprise, but Nótt continued to stride on, and tugged on Darcy’s arm to do the same. “I really do not know why we are forced to hold unto such old traditions at all cost. What does it matter how we walk and talk. Everyone here knows who and what we are. And those who dare to evaluate us by such ridiculous measures are those that I wish would not evaluate us at all, for they are clearly blind and simple minded," she said, and had now started to subtly steer the direction in which they were walking.

 

And Darcy found out what direction that was, when she reached for a glass on a tray of one of the servants. No, she reached for two of them, and put one firmly in Darcy's free hand. And she winked at Darcy. This was…. Unexpected. Darcy could not help but smile, as Nótt clinked their glasses together and started drinking. Sure, it was probably against the formal structure to drink now – she was not of drinking age – but.... hell, wasn’t Nótt right?

 

“Thank you,” Darcy mumbled into her glass, as she tasted the drink. It was juice, mixed with wine, to make it less intoxicating. The night would be long, after all, for everyone.

 

“Oh, you have nothing to thank me for. Your brother saved my brothers life once, you know. I am just… returning the favor, so to speak,” Nótt said with a shrug.

 

It took Darcy a moment to realize that the other was talking about Baldur, not Thor. “Oh, Baldur! You know each other?”

 

At that, Nótt shrugged. “Ah, well, knowing is probably not the right word. But we are acquaintances. But let’s not talk about me, or him. It is your night, my princess. Is there any way I could make this more enjoyable for you? Say, for example, turning that blonde beast’s nose as big as her ego?” She had slightly nodded in the direction of Sif, who was walking with Dúfa at her side, but had her eyes set on Darcy with a grim expression.

 

Darcy tried to stifle the laughter bubbling up in her throat. “Oh, that would be wicked. But I think she hates me enough already, I wouldn’t want to irk her further. But thank you for the offer.”

 

Nótt patted her arm, in a reassuring gesture. “Oh, it would be my pleasure, believe me. Sif has started to act superior ever since she was taken into the circle of the chosen friends of the oh-so-wonderful Prince Thor. I detest nothing more than arrogance.” And then, with a pause, and a thoughtful look at Darcy, she added, “Maybe that is why I feel so partial to you. You are refreshingly forthright about yourself, without the boredom of false humbleness or stern shyness that Sigyn exhibits from time to time. Though she is precious.”

 

Now Darcy’s expression had turned into an outright grin. It was not a ladylike expression, but she couldn’t help it. Was Nótt not right that she had the right to enjoy herself tonight? And this was the first time that she found that she was actually enjoying herself. If they deemed her not worthy for her face, it was their loss. “As you are praising what my teachers think is a lack of prudence, I find I quite like you, too.”

 

“Well then. I am truly delighted with your acquaintance, my princess. And will hand you over to your mother now, so we can get this thing over with.”

 

“Darcy, if you please.”

 

“Oh, I do please. And you can call me a friend of yours, from now on.”

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nótt is made up. Just so you know. I mean - she exists in norse mythology, but her character and her behaviour and all of that is made up.   
> For those who like Sif, don't quit just yet. I don't mean to pit the girls against each other; her behaviour will be explained later on. I mean to make a point with this.
> 
> And did I mention that the beginnings of these Chapter II bits are actual norse proverbs and quotings from texts? Just so you know. I thought it to be amusing bits.


	12. Chapter II - 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of making tactical allies and sacrifices

** 3  
**

 

* * *

 

_“A boy's will is the will of the wind,” is what her father tells her, to cheer her up, after she has to bear her first rejection. The boy was the son of a great warrior, and often in the palace when his father held counsel with her’s. But after she had given him one of her favorite books as a gift, he had started to be all weird. And now she had seen him giving her book to that older girl who helped in the garden. Her father’s words really didn’t help with the disappointment. They really, really didn’t._

* * *

 

 

When the doors were opened for the males of the court, the whole event seemed less like a ceremony, but a more cheerful celebration, finally. The softened wine was exchanged for mead, and other, heavier stuff.

 

Darcy was, once more, asked to hold a small speech in which she thanked everyone for coming, before the buffet was opened, and the music started up. The men were merry and dotted on their daughters and wives, and the younger men asked the ladies to dance.

 

Of course, that had been another tedious bit of the evening that Darcy had been afraid of before. Opening the dance. She had thought much about what to dance, and with whom. Her first instinct had been to ask Thor, but her mother had softly steered her away from that thought. She was free to dance with her brother, of course, because showing affection to your siblings would be seen as a virtue, but tonight she was not tested as a sister, but as a girl growing into womanhood.

 

So there had been much thinking on her part. Of course she had decided that it would make sense to ask one of Thor’s friends. At least she knew them, and was fond of them, and they were less likely to reject her. But some of them didn’t look like they could even sway in time with music, and that narrowed down her choice among them.

 

And then she didn’t want to ask someone who would get the wrong idea. That she actually liked them in… you know, _that_ way. Or that she didn’t like them, if she didn’t ask them. And shouldn’t she, instead, just ask someone who was a brother to the girls she was expected to socialize with? But would that offend the sisters of the brothers she didn’t choose? How many men would there be, that she could offend with one gesture? It was all so complicated, all of a sudden.

 

Surprisingly, Tyr, General of the Einherjar, had been the one who had helped her the most. He had caught her lurking on a balcony, watching the boys bellow at their fending lessons, trying to discern which of them might make a good dance partner. He had, of course, known why she observed them. The ceremony had been the talk of the palace for weeks, and Tyr had a lady that he fancied who had once gone through the same problem – and who might or might not have send him to Darcy in the first place.

 

“See this whole evening as a battle, my princess,” he had said, with a slight and uneasy shrug. “That is what I do. The social battlefield. What you wear is your armor and what you say is your weapon. And then spend the evening with people whom you would want to have as allies in battle, and make sure to always keep an eye on those whom you’d regard an enemy, so that your back may never be turned to them.”

 

Tyr had trained her with the bow, and the sword, and the dagger, and he had always treated her like she was no different from Thor. She trusted in him, in his words, and she had heeded his advice more than he knew. They had become her mantra for the whole ceremony.

 

And when she had decided with whom to dance, she had approached him before it, directly, and made her plans be known. She had laid out her plan before him like one would talk about a battle with ones generals. And Hogun, who always looked so grim and never seemed to speak much, had accepted her proposal with an expression that could almost be interpreted as approval. Though Hogun did not talk much, he, too, found that festive in Asgard could be compared to a battlefield.

 

He wore the expression when she approached him as the music started as well, and solemnly set out to their battle as he had said he would. Inwardly, Darcy congratulated herself on her on her choice. He would not take this the wrong way, and they were seen as neutral too each other; yet he was also known to be a friend of Thor’s, so it did not come as leap to pick him, and because he was a ward of Asgard, people might even see it as a political move to appreciate the Vanir loyalty.

 

And, of course, Hogun was actually a great dancer. He moved as graceful with her in his arms as he had moved with a sword in his hands, and because of his perpetually serious expression, and because he was not overly tall, they did not look ridiculous together.

 

And last but not least – because he was also very loyal, he was willing to brave Thor, who already looked back and forth between her and him, as if he was smelling something bad. Darcy smiled. Oh yes, she was brilliant.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hogun!appreciation. Isn't he honourable and brave?  
> Well, we'll see how this turns out tomorrow. Sorry that this one was so short, guys!  
> And to get on with the bad news, i'm not sure if i can be around tomorrow and update the fic. There's a little party happening that I will probably go to, and I will stay at the friend's place after that. Maybe I will still be in a state to update the fic, but I can't make any promises, so better to apologize in advance.
> 
> On an off-note; In norse mythology Tyr is one of Odin's sons. I'm not ruling it out for this story, but it won't ever be made explicit. I leave that up to you guys. Have it your headcanon-way with this one.


	13. Chapter II - 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of oafish jealousy and a good laugh.

** 4  
**

 

* * *

 

_“Happy is he who hath in himself praise and wisdom in life,” is what a guard whispers to Darcy, in her hiding spot. All morning, she had secretly watched her father train the swordfight with Thor, and praise him. She longed to join them, and be praised. Last week, she had tried. She had come to show father what she had taught herself; to make something change its color simply by her touch. But he had not praised her. By his look, Darcy had almost expected him to scold her instead. She did not wish to see this look again._

* * *

 

 

The official part of the evening was officially over for Darcy, when she was allowed to leave her seat next to the head of the table, on her father’s right side, and chose a place she would like to sit. Or, theoretically, she would have been allowed to mingle and just enjoy herself, if she could. The choice was not very much her own, as Thor had made sure that she was placed between him and whom she recognized to be Dellingr, as soon as she had vaguely steered in the direction of where he and his friends were seated.

 

He had put food in front of her, and praised her warmly, and he pretended to be himself; loud and cheerful and happy. But Darcy had been surprised to find an unusually stern expression on his face, whenever he looked at the man sitting at the other side of the table, if not directly opposite of him. Hogun, of course, seemed intent to pretend not to notice it.

 

Darcy may have talked about the possibility that Thor would be upset that she had chosen one of his friends, instead of him, for her first official dance, but she had not really expected him to be quite angry at his friends. She had expected him to be loud and to complain loudly, and that she and Hogun would have to brave that, and possibly some sulking on his part. Thor had always been, for as long as she could remember, a very sore looser.

 

And she had always had found just a bit too much delight in teasing him for it. If he was more upset than she had anticipated, why, she had to make use of it, didn’t she? So she addressed Hogun quite frequently, either asking him to hand her something to eat and drink – though she did neither with much fervor, her stomach had not yet settled – or asking his opinion on something.

 

If Hogun did think it odd that she spoke more to him that night, than she usually did in a week, he made no show of it. He did notice as well, though, that Thor always spoke up loudly when she addressed Hogun, and when Hogun did hand her something, he always intercepted. He was putting much effort into it, too, and Darcy was not surprised to find his friend Fandral smile knowingly, and with much mirth.

 

Before she could put further thought into how she could irk Thor, a sudden weight dropped on her shoulder startled her. Two great, big palms were placed on her shoulders, and squeezed them. It was a bit weird that she knew just by the squeeze who it was. She let her head fall back anyway, though, and smiled up at her father’s expression.

 

It was surprising that he had chosen to come over here, but she would not complain. It was rare for him to seek her out like that. And it was rare for her, on the other hand, to see him in his full regalia. Breastplates, armplates, shoulder caps, cape. Safe for his missing helmet, he could have gone to battle. Though she knew that to him, court matters rarely warranted the same attention as a battle would. Truth be told, Darcy knew with certainty that he quite despised most such occasions.

 

That he still was around at all was something that Darcy chose to take as a testament of his love for her, if he meant it that way or not.

 

“A fine dance, my daughter,” he spoke to her; but he also looked at Hogun. Momentarily, Darcy could have sworn she saw his jaw move, though he did not speak more. It was difficult from her position to fully read his expression. But he did not look like a proud and happy father.

 

“Thank you, father.”

 

She had half a mind to ask him if he wanted to sit with her, just so he could see better what he was doing. But it was then that Darcy saw another movement to her father’s right, and saw her mother step up next to him. She placed one of her hands on the All-father’s, and gave Darcy a smile. “Ah, you have come to praise our daughter, my love?” Frigga raised her other hand, and carefully caressed Darcy’s cheek for a moment, with a bright smile that made Darcy beam in return. “Rightfully so. You are lovely tonight, my dear.”

 

Then Frigga gently lifted her husband’s handf rom her daughter’s shoulder and entwined their fingers. Odin was still looking intently at Hogun, who had now chosen to look elsewhere. It was the first time tonight that Hogun looked uneasy. “Now come, and let our daughter eat. I believe that Volstagg will soon tell the tale of his latest battle.”

 

But as she said this, Frigga winked at Darcy. Odin let his Queen guide him away, but it did take Darcy a moment to understand that this was what had happened. Her mother had come simply to lead her father away from her. And she had looked amused.

 

By the spirits, was her father like Thor? The thought was… weirdly pleasing. Had he hoped she would ask him to dance, as well? Surely not? Darcy followed her father and her mother with her eyes. She was tempted to go after them, and test her theory. But for once, she was just happy to know that both seemed to be content with her work here tonight.

 

Then her shoulder was tapped, and Darcy turned her head to her other side. To her left was Fandral, and when she looked at him, he cleared his throat, bowed deeply, and held out a hand to her; all the while he glanced through his eyelashes up her, and he winked. “May I have this dance, my princess?”

 

Darcy found that she could hear the blood rushing through her head, and was very sure that her cheeks were suddenly much warmer than before. But she placed her hand in Fandral’s, and muttered “Sure.” She started to get up, and only paused in bewilderment when she felt something scratchy on her hand. Fandral had actually pressed his lips to the back of it.

 

She was at loss for words. Fandral was nice. He was smart, the smartest of her brothers friends. And he was funny, and entertaining to be around. And he was also very musical. He was nice to her, too. And… well, she liked the way he dressed. And he had even a small beard already. But… but he never seemed to give her that kind of attention, and it was really very fine with her.

 

Now, though, when she followed him to the dance floor, she found that she was unsure if she liked it or she didn’t. Her skin felt too hot where his hand held hers, and where his hand was on her waist. As the spinning started, for a moment she was worried that her head would spin too.

 

But then Fandral spoke, and his words anchored her a bit. He was glancing over her shoulder to where her brother was, and he grinned so gaily. “We can’t have Hogun bear all of your brother’s oafish jealousy alone, can we?” Then he turned both of them, so that she may have a peak at Thor.

 

And indeed, Thor’s head had become all read, and angry, and it appeared that Dellingr was the only thing that kept Thor seated. Darcy couldn’t stifle her laugh this time round, and Fandral laughed easily enough himself.

 

And they barely stopped laughing and making jokes, mostly at Thor’s expense, after that. After the first dance, they simply continued with a second one. Maybe she shouldn’t, but Darcy was sure that she had never in all her life enjoyed herself half so well. For sure she hadn’t.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Darcy really only get's it half right, of course. As you can tell, Darcy has a childhood-crush on Fandral, and she doesn't even really get that much yet. Natrually she wouldn't see why Odin and Thor might be suspicious of the guys she danced with. Knowing and understanding this concept are two different kind of things.  
> At any rate, she's having fun, and I hope so are you.
> 
> On that note, sorry for the delayed update. And thank you very very much to all who commented to so far. Especially uru (who always comments on tumblr and is a peach <3), CinnaAtHeart and phoenix_173. I didn't expect as many comments as I got so far, and you really light up my day :)


	14. Chapter II - 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of travelers who dwell, and things unspoken.

 

** 5 **

* * *

 

_“No friend is he who but flatters,” Alaric tells her, sympathy in his voice. “Now lift your arm higher.” For if one would know about unkind words, it would be the chubby young man. Darcy had often heard the women at court whisper mean things about him, and she was sure that Alaric knew it as well, but he never seemed to care. Maybe that was why she didn’t mind training her poor sword fighting skills with him. If someone would know how hard mean words could be, and had learned to still gain something from them, it was he._

* * *

 

 When the music changed, instead of joining in for a third dance, Darcy and Fandral went to get themselves some wine, or juice in her case, and Fandral whispered to her that he was quite sure that the reason that Sif was watching her so angrily all evening was that she had a secret crush on Thor.

 

He had to know, of course. He shared lessons with both of them, and he was an expert in these kind of things. He had three older sisters. And Sif behaved just as his sisters did, when in love.

 

But before he could continue to explain her his observations in great and lengthy detail, someone stood next to them, and coughed unsubtly. Darcy almost expected it to be Thor, and was surprised to find that the tall, blond young man was … “Baldur?”

 

Her brother bowed. He was so different, and so much the same. When had she last seen him? Half a year, was it not? Last winter? Or was it the summer before that? Almost a year, then?

 

His blonde hair had grown longer and a bit darker, and he had shaved off the hair on the sides of his head. And there was short bit of beard on his chin. And he was taller than she remembered, and his shoulders were broader. And his eyes – were not even his eyes greener than they had been?

 

But when he righted himself, and he smiled, and held out a hand, there was also so much that was the still him. Familiar. Family. She really hadn’t known just how much she had missed him, until now.

 

“You are back!” She couldn’t help but to ignore the hand held out to her, and threw her arms around his neck and just hugged him. Very unladylike, her mother’s ladies and friends would say, but how could she care? “Oh brother, it is so good that you are here!”

 

For a moment, Baldur seemed to return the hug, but he grew stiff when she spoke, and then, gently detangled himself from her arms. He nodded at Fandral, whom Darcy had almost forgotten to be there. And then, he took Darcy’s hand in his. “If you do not mind, I would like to take Darcy from you for a moment, and for a dance.”

 

Fandral raised his glass in response. “Oh, please do. I think I might try my luck with the wonderful Lady Sigyn once more, and earn my third rebuff tonight. But the third time is charmed, isn’t it.” He wandered off carelessly, and Darcy let Baldur lead her to the floor, where the dance had already started, but they slipped in effortlessly.

 

“When did you come back,” she asked the second they had found the rhythm and she didn’t have to concentrate so much on her movements. Instead she concentrated on Baldur. The joy of seeming him had dimmed a little, and the stiffness that she remembered from his last, short visit returned.

 

He had been around only for a few days – in autumn, yes, it had to have been autumn - , when he had left Álfheim for Vanaheim, where he would stay with their Grandfather. He had been so distant during his last visit and when he had left, she had barely been able to bring herself to hug him.

 

She was still caught between the differences of him, and the unchanged things, weighting them up against each other. But even beyond having seen him last then, she couldn’t say that they had been close in the time between. Even if he would be more the same still, it would be the same brother that, even then, she barely knew anymore.

 

“I returned just an hour ago. I only changed, so that I might not disappoint your guests,” he offered, and swept her forth, his gaze upon the other dancing pairs, and ignoring the many gazes upon them. It seemed that to many his return was a surprise.

 

Darcy could barely bring herself to continue, but she had to. The questions forced their ways through. “Are you going to stay? How was that mission to Niðavellir? We barely know where you are, because you travel so much ever since you left Álfheim all those years ago, and father does not talk much about you. And how long will you stay?”

 

He looked at her, then, if only for a moment. She couldn’t, for the life of her, read the expression that he wears. Disappointment? Pity? He took his time finding his words, it would seem, before he replied, and resumed to look about the room. “I cannot say, if father has decided not to speak of it. And for the same reason, my stay here will be a short one.” Just for a moment, his gaze flickered to her again, and with slightly softer voice, he added. “I am sorry, little cricket.”

 

Darcy lowered her gaze, and looked upon her brother’s chest, with Asgard’s symbol embroidered above his heart, in his sunset-color. If she would lean forward slightly, she could rest her forehead there, and yet the distance between them seemed so much greater than this little space suggested. If only she knew how to bridge it. If only she could beg and plead for him to speak to her, play with her, hug her like he used to.

 

But the voice of her father was in the back of her mind. The stern voice of their childhood, when he had told her and Thor to leave Baldur alone whenever he returned from Álfheim at first, and then, as he grew older and the gaps between his visits grew longer, from wherever else he had been. Their brother was furthering the interests of Asgard. He was not a child, he was a future king.

 

But much as she tried, Darcy did not see him as that. He was Baldur, he was her _brother_. He might not have been so for years, and only occasionally did the old Baldur in him show, but she was too headstrong to let go of him. And she wanted that Baldur back. And Thor wanted that too, maybe even more than she did.

 

As they swept through the room, Darcy glanced at the table, and for her other brother. He had not yet noticed the newly arrived, or surely he would not be laughing at a joke that one of his companions made. His eyes would be on them, maybe he would even be on his way over here, and Darcy suspected that he would not even bear a smile.

 

Not having their elder brother around, and seeing him only in so shortened a time hurt Thor more than it hurt her, though he showed it less. But Darcy could read him. She knew whom he trained so hard for, so that he might one day fight side by side with him.

 

Thor did not think she knew, but before Baldur had left the last time, Thor had begged their father that he would let him join their elder brother. She had been hiding behind a column and had been unsure if she wanted father to allow him to go, simply for Thor’s sake, or if she was selfish enough to wish that at least he would stay with her. She still wasn’t sure, even if she knew now, that there was no chance that her father would ever allow it. He had been very firm in that. One day, he would send Thor out on his own, to see the realms. Until this day, Thor had to be patient.

 

“Why are we being watched so intently by the blonde one by young Lady Gersemi’s side? Have you made an enemy, or have I?”

 

Baldur’s weary voice startled her from her thoughts, and his words distracted her effectively. She glanced at the table where Fandral had directed her gaze earlier, and found that, indeed, Sif was watching them again. Or still?

 

But she was glad for the distraction, and for a topic that she could safely talk with her brother about. So she made an exaggerated facial expression of annoyance, before she leaned closer, and almost whispered what Fandral had told her earlier.

 

There was a quiet sort of bemusement on Baldur’s face, but he leaned his head from one side to the other and back, unsure. “Maybe so. Maybe she fancies our brother. But regardless, that might not be the reason.”

 

That her brother would consider the topic at all surprised her. She pointed out Fandral’s expertise in the matter, at which Baldur made a face. Then he shook his head. “Not to insult your friend, but would Lady Sif not be watching Thor if she were so heavily enamored with him, and us? No, I think she is indeed watching you.”

 

Darcy snuck a glance at Sif again. Her brother did have a point. But she still liked Fandral’s idea. If only because she could at least understand then why Sif didn’t like her. Competing for affection was something she was familiar with. But if Sif really took offence in her… “I do not understand that one at all.”

 

Baldur smiled. It was an honest smile, less sad or tired than his earlier one. “I am afraid I cannot be of much help. I do not meet many women on my travels.” And then, after a pause he added, if a bit hesitantly. “At least on Midgard there weren’t.”

 

Darcy felt her whole face light up now. She could not hide that his words excited her. Not only because he had chosen to speak of his travels to her without her pestering him, but also because of what he had said. “Midgard? You were to Midgard? I thought we do not go to Midgard anymore.”

 

Baldur twirled her out of his reach for a moment, but when they were joined once more, he replied. “We do not. But father asked me to make sure that a relic of old that we left behind there centuries ago is still protected. Midgard is one of the realms of Yggdrasil, after all, and deserves our protection. Maybe more so than others.”

 

“Why?” Darcy asked, eager to keep the conversation going, and stumbling over her own feet for a moment, too caught up in it and too less focused on the dance. Which Baldur noticed, of course, and he steadied her without commenting on it.

 

“The realm is mortal, and grows more slowly than the other nine realms. Time is different there, and the humans of Midgard are much simpler. They do not know of Yggdrasil anymore, nor of any realm beyond it. But it makes the realm more beautiful for it. Maybe one day, father will allow me to take you there.”

 

Darcy’s heart skipped a beat at his last words, and she was pretty sure she skipped for a second there, too. “Oh, oh yes. Please do. And Thor. Take us both.”

 

Baldur laughed softly. It was good to hear his laugh. “We shall see.” And then, the music stopped, and both of them paused as well. Baldur placed his hands on her shoulders, and leaned forward, to softly kiss the space between her brows. “And congratulations on being a lady now, little cricket. I should probably stop calling you that.”

 

Darcy grinned, and once more she simply moved in and hugged him. He didn’t even stiffen up as much as before. Only a trifle of stiffness lingered. For a moment she fancied the idea of just hugging him till it went away completely. “Please don’t,” she mumbled against his chest. “Please never ever do.” But she was sure he heard her anyway.

 

 

%MCEPASTEBIN%

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god. This should have come December 10th! I'm so sorry. University has been harsh last week, and i'm madly busy preparing christmas gifts (and secret santas). But i'll try and catch up soon-ish, and return to a daily schedule! Again, I'm so sorry.  
> Hopefully Baldur's temporary return made up for that?
> 
> Also, do you guys remember Alaric? He was in the first chapter; he's Volstagg's oldest son. That's comic canon, actually.
> 
> (Extra cookies for those who see the plotline that i'm building up in the background of this.)


	15. Chapter II - 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of social expectations unmet, and ... fist fights.

** 6 **

  

* * *

 

_“A club drenched in blood easily finds its mark,” Tyr tells her with an annoyed growl when she asks for the tenth time why, again, she is made to join the royal entourage in their hunt; her first hunt. She knows that Baldur and Thor had to do it as well, but she honestly thinks that is no reason at all. And Tyr’s reason is just stupid. Even drenching hundreds of clubs in blood will not make her like it. There is no sport in killing an animal for fun. Be that a deer, an eagle or …. a wolf._

 

* * *

 

Their dance ended much too quickly for Darcy’s liking. As they stepped apart, her brother seemed to instantly return to his duties, and made his way to their parents’ side. He and her father had a short exchange of words, before it was their mother that took it upon herself to guide him towards food and drink.

 

Darcy could not help but to observe it and had half a mind of simply following the two of them. She also considered to run and tell Thor of their brother’s arrival. If Baldur had not found the time to greet him yet, surely it was her sisterly duty to do so?

 

But she had not the opportunity of making even one step in the one direction or the other, before a hand pushed itself in underneath her arm and then rested itself in the crook of her elbow. Darcy was very surprised to find that it was Nótt who had come to her side.

 

The elder girl smiled at her, and lightly nodded toward the entry of the garden. What she could want there, Darcy did not know, but she let Nótt steer her towards it. She was too curious, really. There was an interesting look upon her face; one that spoke of conspiracy and secrets to be told, and Darcy liked that look immensely.

 

As soon as the door fell shut behind them, the other did not disappoint her. “I think you will be glad to hear that most of the courtly ladies seem to approve of you. It would not matter if they didn’t, but I know that you were weighted down by worry. And now you shan’t be. Well done.”

 

Darcy knew that she should indeed feel like a weight was lifted, but she did not. The first thing that came to her mind was… well, a question. “How do you know that?” If Nótt did not care for the judgment, how had she than found out about the results so quickly? The evening was not even over yet. Not even her mother had given her any hint, aside from her own opinion on the matter.

 

“By the way that all information at court is passed on: Idle talk at the table of a feast. That is, Sigyn did me the favour of asking, and no one at court would expect her to gossip,” her new friend shrugged, and steered Darcy towards a stone bench, where she detangled her arm from Darcy’s, and then pushed her to sit. She seemed visibly pleased with herself.

 

“I gratulate you. Now, I expect that you are hungry?”

 

The question – at the end of a dinner feast - surprised Darcy. But more so did the answer she found, when she did give it some thought. “I am,” she said.

 

The confusion she felt on account of this fact must have been visible upon her face, as Nótt explained how she could have possibly known that, without Darcy having to ask. “I suspected as much. When I went by your place at the table, as you were dancing, your plate was untouched. But I think it is to be expected, if you are filled so with worry. At least I don’t think I myself ate much when I was to be judged.” At the later sentence, she paused, and shrugged, as if she was not sure of the fact. Darcy almost didn’t believe her, either.

 

Then Nótt retained her train of thought. “Well then, my princess. I shall go and send for a servant to gather some of the finest things of what is left, and bring it to us. And then we will feast amongst ourselves and you may enlighten me a bit on some of the stories that I heard of you and some giant wolves that apparently guard your chambers.”

 

Darcy now grinned, and nodded, and upon this Nótt turned and left for where they had come from.  Darcy closed her eyes as the door fell shut, and simply used the moment to breath. Which she could not remember having done all evening. Naturally, she had to have, but it felt like she was breathing for the first time now, in what felt like too much time.

 

When she heard steps, she opened her eyes with a smile, expecting that her new friend had returned – and how fine it was to have made a friend that was not Thor’s friend at first – and then felt her smile slide of her face when it was _Sif_.

 

Of all the people in that room, it had to be her.

 

The other, too, looked like she smelled something foul as her eyes fell upon Darcy. For a moment, they seemed to simply look at each other, each waiting who would move first. And then it was a haughty expression that appeared on Sif’s face, and an exaggerated curtsey that followed. “Princess.”

 

There was so much disdain in this one word; the first word Sif spoke to her all evening.

 

Darcy was not used to it. She felt the heart rising to her neck, and her cheeks, and the anger with it. She could not help but to jump from her sitting position, her hands curling into fists at her side. “What is it that makes me so revolting so you? How did I ever earn your anger? I demand to know.”

 

For a moment it seemed as if Sif would hesitate. As if she would deny her this knowledge, and simply leave. But then she rightened herself up. “You _demand_? Well then. Howe _ver_ could I refuse a princess of Asgard.” She made a step towards Darcy.

 

Darcy jumped from her sitting position and likewise made two steps towards sif, though she was uncertain what she intended to do. Of course she knew she was being made fun of, but she still didn’t know why.

 

Now Sif also raised her chin slightly. “Wherever should I start, and explain it so that you would understand. You would _never_ understand.” Another step towards Darcy, and one to the left. She started circling Darcy, very slowly.

 

Darcy was tempted to move as well, to mirror Sif’s movements, as she had seen Freki and Geri do it sometimes before their little fights. But she found herself unable to do so. The only thing she found she was able to move was her tongue. “Try me.”

 

For just a moment, Sif seemed to be surprised by the challenge. But then she leapt on it. “If you wish, my princess. You always get your every wish. Your life is easy. You never even have to lift a finger for yourself, and you are too much the precious doe to even see it. The pretty princess in her pretty gowns. The good little bird in the golden cage. Good obedient little Dagný, giften with so many talents, whom we all should measure ourselves up against. ”

 

With every word, Sif’s voice grew a bit louder, and a bit harder. Her circling steps almost turned into stomps. Darcy swallowed, but now not even a reply came to her mind. All she did was ball her fists at her side.

 

“But how could we. We don’t all have it easy like you. We are not all daughters of Odin, born with royal blood. We are not all as easily loved or respected. We don’t all have older brothers who teach us everything we wish. We don’t all have access to the greatest minds of all Asgard, we cannot all be gifted with Seidr; and some of us are not even allowed to lift the sword that you are yourself too good to train with.”

 

The more Sif spoke, the more her words sound hurt, rather than angry. She made it sound like Darcy would do any of that on purpose; with the purpose to personally offend her. It was unfair of her. What did Sif know of Darcy’s training with the sword? Sif was not there when Darcy was trained solitarily, and never had to see Alaric beat her with a stick because she was too slow and clumsy for it.

 

But Sif was like Thor. Sif was good with the sword. Just like Thor, she did not understand that some people simply weren’t made for it. Darcy was not meant to fight with swords, simple as that. But how could she use the gift that Sif seemed to especially grudge her? Seidr was not meant to be used for battles either. It was meant to do the will of the spirits.

 

Still, before Darcy could even begin to voice any of that, Sif continued, her words coming quicker, and louder with every sentence. “Someone like me, they will never accept me the same way they accept you. But you…. you do not even understand how someone could possibly not like you. And that is why, Princess, I can’t stand you.” Again, she drew out the title, like it was a particularly foul word.

 

Now she had stopped the cycling, and she looked at Darcy, and her expression was almost triumphantly. Darcy wanted to scowl, she wanted to explain and defend herself, she wanted to make a face at her, but she remembered some of the things that she was taught in preparation for this evening. For a battle like this, one might say.

 

So instead, she smiled. “Thank you for telling me. Very interesting. A wonderful story. I especially liked the part where you call me pretty. But… are you sure? That this is why you do not like me? Are you sure it is not just because you are in love with Thor and he doesn’t love you back?” And for effect, she lowered her voice in almost whisper, and leaned forward to Sif, as if in conspiracy.

 

It was terribly satisfying to see Sif’s expression change, to see her proud face fall; eyes widening. But only for a moment. Then hot fury bleeds unto her face, and Sif moved more quickly than Darcy could possibly have seen.

 

The sound of Sif’s fist hitting her cheek came before the pain, but it did not come too quick for Darcy’s instincts to react. She stumbled back first, to evade another hit that never came. Sif looked almost as surprised at her own reaction as Darcy felt. Her fist was uncurled, her hand pressed against her chest.

 

But Darcy did not hesitate to jump forward, her hands raised forward. She was not sure what she planned to do with her hands there until the moment her hands touched Sif; her fingers curled blindly into a fistful of Sif’s blonde hair and she yanked.

 

Man, Alaric would so laugh at her, had he seen this. She fought like a child.

 

Darcy was no match for the elder girls strength, and with a shriek Sif shook Darcy off in a matter of seconds. Darcy stumbled back once more, and this time fell flat on her back. And instead of jumping up, Darcy stared, and it is her who was surprised at her action.

 

Slowly she watched as the strands of hair that she had held tightly start to turn, from blond to brown and, at last, to black; as if someone had thrown pitch at her, and her hair was now soaking it up. The darkened color seemed to spread, and finally Sif noticed it, too. She grabbed her hair and looked at it, and then looked at Darcy. The look in her eyes spoke of murderous intent. “You vile little,-“

 

It was then that something to their right moved from the shadows. It was Nótt, who was between them in the blink of an eye, standing protectively in front of Darcy. “Stop here, and think, Sif, before you do any more damage.”

 

For a moment Sif indeed stopped, and stared at the elder.

 

Nótt continued to speak, and Darcy has not noticed before how low and threatening her voice could be. Everything about her seemed like darkness and danger now. “You are venturing your anger on someone who is not at fault. And I know that you should know better than that. How could the solution to being oppressed and belittled by them,” and with that she nodded towards the hall, “be to lash out against another who is under oppression?”

 

“She? Oppressed?” Sif spat out immediately. But she did not seem to move to attack Darcy anymore. Nótt probably noticed as well, as she lost her posture to turned sideways, holding one hand out to Darcy to help her up.

 

Her gaze was still on Sif, though. “Do not insult my intelligence, or yours. How often have you stood watching her when she was forced to train a weapon that she did not favor? And have you not seen her struggling all evening? Of course, you were angry that she tried so hard to do what you have resisted all your life. But you cannot pretend to be blind to what is in front of you. Neither of you can simply lead the life that she wishes. And blaming each other is not the solution. It is ugly.”

 

Sif now did look… guilty. And then, as if she had noticed it herself, she turned on her heels, storming back deeper into the garden.

 

Nótt followed her with her gaze, for a moment, before she turned to look at Darcy. She gently took and titled Darcy’s chin, so she might look at the cheek where Sif’s fist had hit her. “We should put something cooling on that. I hope it will not bruise. For both of your sakes. Sif has behaved badly, and she can be a fool. But she is not usually a malevolent spirit.”

 

Darcy felt sheepish, as Nótt let go of her. “I think she only hit with half her might. It hurt, but not terribly. And I have seen her swing her sword. She has plenty of might that could have hurt plenty.” She glanced to where Sif had been, and then back at Nótt. “I… the hair… it was not intentional, I just…I was so angry, and Seidr is sometimes hard to control, when I’m angry.”

 

As Nótt moved towards the door to the hall, she made a little waving gesture with her hand. “A spell of this kind should not last longer than a day. And it was deserved, so don’t worry. I may try to tell you that she is not usually a bad person, but I would not try to defend her actions tonight. Envy and despair makes people do and say ugly things. If a new hair color helps her to look at herself, and see how ugly she behaved before such vileness is irredeemable, you truly did good.” And then, with half a mischievous smile, she added. “I would have known of worse ways to accomplish that.”

 

Darcy would not have thought it possible, but she found herself smiling.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of these days I will catch up. I expect it to be possibly wednesday. Today was not that day, sadly, so this is still the update for December 11th. But it's extra-long and we got the whole Sif-matter out of the way! Yaye?
> 
> I hope you can see why I inculded this issue. When I started to think about this whole prompt, I saw basically two or three routes for Darcy to go down, and one would have been to have a similar struggle to Sif's. In that case, they might have even been friends. But talking with uru, I got the feeling that it actually might be nice to show that Asgard can fuck you up, no matter how you do or do not meet expectations. There's a lot of pressure on kids. 
> 
> At any rate, for those of you who like a visual stimulant for how to imagine Darcy in this whole chapter: Think Georgie Henley in the 'Prince Caspian' movie. If I have the time I might make a little graphic for it next weekend.


	16. Chapter II - 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of secrets and lies; of dreams and nightmares; of the visible and invisible lines between members of a family.

** 7   
**

* * *

_“The head only knows what lies nearest the heart,” the ambassador from Vanaheim had told Darcy, when he had told her of her grandfather’s offer; when she had to worry for the first time that she could make a wrong political choice. It was also the first time that Darcy learned that her grandfather Fjörgynn the Fierce had offered that she could – should – live with him for a while. Her father had not told her once that her grandfather wanted that, and the ambassador had taken it upon himself to inform the little princess of it, despite the kings wishes._

* * *

 

 

For the rest of the evening, Nótt seemed reluctant to leave her side. She brought Darcy to the place at the table where she was seated with Sigyn, and made sure that Darcy ate, if only a little bit, and cooled her cheek. And whenever Darcy was asked about it, Nótt made sure to tell a funny story of how they both had run into each other in the darkness of the garden, and stumbled.

 

And though Darcy knew that it had not happened that way, she did find herself laughing at the story as well. There was a lot of laughter in the later part of the evening; laughter when Nótt teased Thor for his insisting that Darcy had to dance more with him than with anyone else; laughter when Hogun blandly offered Thor to dance with him, if Thor was so envious; laughter when Sigyn refused Fandral the three more times that he asked her to dance that night; laughter when Geri and Freki sneaked into the festive and startle some of the older guests; laughter when Nótt told a particularly embarrassing story of Fandral as a little boy.

 

There were many moments that Darcy knew that she would try to remember and treasure for the years to come, and that she still would forget too many of them. But even if she would only remember a handful of these moments, there would more happiness in than night than she herself had envisioned there to be for these past weeks of preparation.

 

She would have to thank the spirits for this night; especially for entwining her thread of fate with that of Nótt. Sitting with Nótt and Sigyn distracted her enough not to worry about Sif, or about Baldur, or even about Thor. She almost forgot how the time flied, until the moment that Sigyn got up and announced to the people gathered around Darcy that it was time for her to retreat.

 

Many of their peers followed her suit, and a nod from her mother told Darcy that she, too, was to retreat. Only the old warriors remained behind, still heavily drinking and praising the old times, as Darcy left for her chambers.

 

Geri and Freki had already taken up their positions in front of her door, though Darcy woke them, and invited them in. She felt light headed, and surely for tonight even father might grant her this small favor. The warmth she felt in her heart simply had to be matched by warmth around her tonight, and nothing helped her calm herself like the rhythmic breathing of her wolves.

 

Still, tonight this trusted method failed her. She seemed bound to recount the events of the evening in her head, the good as well as the bad. Restlessly, she moved around, until she could not help it any longer, and got up. Surely it was that she was hungry. She had been too nervous to eat at first, and then later happiness had filled her up too much to even think of eating.

 

With a sigh, Darcy slipped out from between Geri and Freki. Geri lifted his head for a moment, and then went back to sleep. But Freki yawned, and got up to follow her, if with slowed and less steady steps. Darcy beamed at him, and petted the space between his ears once he had reached her side. These two were always hungry. Maybe Freki could smell her intention of getting food.

 

She tiptoed out of her chambers and down the hallway of the private chambers. She considered checking if there were still people in the great hall, but she would not really want to meet anyone in her sleeping gown, even if there were still food left. So she made for the kitchen.

 

Before she could reach the stairway that would lead to the lower part of the castle, where the servants stayed and the food was stored and prepared, she heard voices coming from the well-room, where her mother usually meditated.

 

Almost without thinking, Darcy made her way towards that room. The door was not fully closed, and there were no guards outside. The light blue glow coming from the well flickered occasionally, as if someone was pacing in front of it, blocking the light. Darcy knew, because she had sometimes seen her mother do it, when she was restless during Darcy's lessons at seidr. And she had often thought how pretty the blue light was.

 

Darcy looked at Freki, and put her index finger to her lips. Freki’s big, yellow eyes were fixed on her, and he blinked lazily, but did not make a sound. Then Darcy moved towards the door, to peak inside.

 

It was that moment, that the light flickered again. Darcy instantly recognized that it was her father, not her mother, who was moving around the well. And she was surprised to see that Baldur was there too, sitting on the edge of the well, looking at father.

 

“I ask once more, son, and you shall weight carefully what your reply will be,” Odin bellowed out now, and Darcy thought she could feel the great golden door tremble from the anger in his voice. She, at least, felt herself wincing instantly. Baldur did not. “When will you return to Asgard permanently?”

 

Darcy felt her mouth fall open, and instantly pressed her palms over her mouth and her nose. She held her breath, and was very careful not to make a sound – of surprise, or joy. Father had asked Baldur to return home? She thought he was the one who had sent him away. That’s what the ladies in attendance of her mother had whispered.

 

“My answer will remain the same that I have given you the last two times that you have asked: When you will tell them the truth,” Baldur spoke with a tight voice. How he could speak back to their father so calmly was a mystery to her. But more than that did his reply puzzle her. To whom had father lied?

 

Now, again, Odin continued his pacing, his arms crossed behind his back, every step rather a stomp, in rhythm to his words. “It is not your call to make! Do not dare to pressure me, you insolent boy!”

 

She had seen her father angry before, but for as long as she could, Darcy could not remember ever having seen him this angry. The little she could see from his profile was scary to behold.

 

Baldur now got up from where he had sat on the well’s edge. He shook his head. “The same goes for you, father. It is not your place to pressure me into lying to them for you. I cannot partake in a treason against them so great. Before you send me to Álfheim, when I told you of what I saw, in that vision that the spirits send me, I told you: The spirits always have their reason for what they do, and they granted me this knowledge for a reason. You are committing a grave mistake in keeping their true heritage from them.”

 

And then, Baldur added, with a much quieter voice, “I will obey you in whatever you desire, father. I know that it is not my place to tell them, and that I cannot force your hand. But do not ask this of me. I could never face them again.”

 

Odin turned, and made a step towards Baldur. Darcy was sure that he would slap her brother now, and for a moment she tensed, wanting to run out and stop him, but too afraid – and confused. What grave lie could her father have told? And kept a lie all these years? Had he robbed someone of their heritage? Was it a treasure? He had send Baldur to Álfheim when she was so little. The thought was … horrible. It did not sound like her honorable father.

 

But Odin did not strike Baldur. He stopped, and breathed heavily. And then he took a step back. And didn’t reply.

 

For a moment, there was silence in the room. Both looked so sad. Darcy crouched down, and engulfed Freki in a hug. The wolf remained quiet, but as if to calm her, he gave her cheek a flick with his tongue.

 

“If that is your reply, I shall take my leave in the morrow. King Oropher will welcome me back to his court, I am sure.”

 

Then slowly, as if he wanted father to stop him, he moved towards the door. Darcy instantly scrambled as silently as she could, with her back against the wall. Hugging Freki close, she closed her eyes and concentrated. _Please let it work, please let it work…_

 

Then the cold tickle of her seidr went over her skin, and when she opened her eyes in time to see Baldur step out through the door, she had managed to make herself and Freki invisible. Though not inaudible. When she sighed in relief, she saw Baldur freeze, and look around.

 

But upon seeing nothing, he resumed walking down the hallway. Just a moment later, her father stepped out as well, and breezed back to the great hall.

 

Darcy remained in her crouching, invisible position for a moment longer. Then, with a heavy lump in her stomach, she got up, and returned to her room. She had lost her taste for food for tonight. With Freki, whining quietly next to her, Darcy remained lying awake for hours. Only when the sun started to rise did her eyes finally fall shut.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Urgh, guys, someone quickly make this christmas time go away. This year is especially horrible. I just looked in my calendar and I don't have even one day off till the 23rd. How am I going to survive this. How.  
> At any rate, tomorrow I will be working on a group presentation on the cologne cathedral for an excursion there in january. I'll bring my laptop to class, and i'm keeping my fingers crossed that I can sneak in a hundered words here and there, so I won't fall any further behind on the updates.
> 
> But, back to this chapter. I'm so so giddy for what you guys think of this, you have no idea. From the prologue on I was building up this little mini-arc between Baldur and Odin. Was I clear enough? Do you see what's going on?... Is anyone else's heart breaking for Baldur? 
> 
> Next chapter will be the last bit of Chapter II, after that we will have a lil time skip onwards to a early-teenage-days-Darcy. Also, I have every intention of bringing one of her uncles back to Asgard for a while and some quality-time with his niece. Just not yet decided which one; Vili or Vé. Whom would you guys like to see?


	17. Chapter II - 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of small changes.

 

** 8   **

 

* * *

 

_“Be never the first with friend of thine to break the bond of fellowship,” the old cook had told Darcy when she had still been a child, and had hid in the kitchen from Thor and his friends for the first time. Darcy had considered them her friends as well, and had been upset that that day they didn’t want her to play with them. So she had declared they were decidedly not her friends anymore, and Thor wasn’t her brother anymore, either. What the cook meant mystified her, but by the end of the day the fight was forgotten._

 

* * *

 

Darcy couldn’t say when she first possessed the ability to cloak herself in her seidr, and become unfindable to most eyes. There was no single instance in her memory that she could link to that knowledge. It was rather something that she must have done for a while, and mostly she had done it without knowing that she did.

 

But she did remember when she had first become aware of this talent. It had been when she was small, and had wanted to avoid an unpleasant duty desperately enough, to ask the spirits to take her away.

 

And still, like a child, sometimes she simply tried to avoid unpleasant matters that way. Not that she was not still a child. Darcy would be the last to deny that. But she had more duties now than she used to have. So all the more unpleasantness to avoid by being unseeable. Sometimes sword training, or a chiding by teachers, or another lesson. Occasionally she even hid from the servants in the morning, when she didn’t wish to get up.

 

This morning she wasn’t sure what she was hiding from. It had been a rather instinctual behavior, as soon as she had opened her eyes. She felt sore, from the night. She was decidedly not ready to face the day, though she could not say that she was expecting anything particularly vile.

 

It was the whole… idea of the day to come. The thought of having to face the consequences should Sif have told anyone of her behavior; of having to see Thor’s face when he realized that Baldur had just come and would leave again just as quickly – or maybe he had already left; of knowing that her father had wronged someone so terribly; of knowing that Baldur didn’t want to be in Asgard; of her life changing gradually, now that she was officially a lady of the court and didn’t just belong to herself anymore, but to the people of Asgard and the nine realms.

 

That’s why she had got out of her bed, still cloaked in seidr, and ignored Geri’s low-throat whining. He could naturally still smell her, but Darcy knew that the wolves disliked it when they couldn’t also see her. And as soon as the servants opened the doors to her room, to wake her for the day, she snuck out.

 

Then she had gone to the great hall. It was empty this early in the morning. From the sounds not so far away, she could deduce that father was holding court already. There was no breakfast yet, so Thor was probably still asleep. And mother probably sat with father.

 

The only person in the room were two servants; one polishing the table, and another arranging today’s flower work. If Darcy wasn’t very wrong, these two servants were actually a couple. She knew that the woman was named Brune. They worked in companionable quiet and peace, and Darcy felt it rub off on her, as she simply sat on the stairs, her back to the balcony, watching the birds circle the morning sky.

 

When the sound of the portal being pushed open broke this silence, Darcy turned her head and almost expected that now the food would be brought in, but instead she was horrified to see that it was Sif. It was Sif, with dark hair.

 

By the spirits. Had Nótt been wrong? Was Sif here to request audience with her father, and make sure that she would be punished?

 

Brune stopped working with the flowers, and instead came over to Sif, and curtsied. “Lady Sif. It is good to see you.” She did look cheerful as she said it, and Darcy almost felt her jaw drop as she saw Sif actually smiling back. She probably had not seen Sif smile… in all the time that she was acquainted with her. Not even in her brother’s company. She looked almost _nice_.

 

“And It is good to see you, Brune. How fares your sister? Has she recovered from her accident?” Sif spoke calm, and so warmly. She was a very different person from the proud blonde from the evening before. Not only because she wasn’t blonde, and because she wasn’t wearing a pretty gown. But because she seemed so… at ease. Yes. That was it. That was what mother used to say about Thor. ‘May the spirits always keep this boy so at ease’.

 

“Not yet, but we are of great hope. Your new hair is quite lovely, if I may say so.”

 

Now Darcy felt that she was holding her breath. Now, surely, Sif would look angry again. Probably this was the reason why she was hear. Now she would rat her out.

 

But Sif did no such thing, though her smile actually did seem to drift off, into a slight frown. “Thank you. I am not yet used to it. But I actually think it fits me better. Say, Brune, is the Princess about? And is it… is it possible to have an… audience?” She said the last word like it physically pained her, but what Darcy noticed far more was the lack of venom in her title.

 

As Brune explained that the schedule of the princess was erratic, because the princess was hard to keep track off and liked to do things on her own, Darcy bit her lip, and then silently got up and tiptoed over to a column.

 

Then, she lifted the seidr, and yawn. And slurped into the room. For dramatic effect, she blinked a couple of times, at the three people in the room, who stared over at her. “Oh,” she said. Then, she added. “Good morning. I was catching a breath of fresh air on the balcony and must have dozed off again.”

 

The two servants hastily sunk into deep curtsies, before weaseling out of the room. It was almost sad. Darcy knew that they did it because they were told to, and she knew they were in trouble if they didn’t, but she secretly wished they would greet her like they had greeted Sif. Like a friend.

 

Sif, too, had curtsied, albeit not as deep. And now her look was guarded. Darcy took it upon herself to speak up first. Maybe, possibly, because she also could not bear to keep silent. “I am sorry for your hair. I mean, it looks good. But I am truly sorry I did that. I mean, it was deserved, but it was still nothing that a princess should do. Or I should do. Anyone should do, most likely. It would have been better and fairer to hit you back. And why is it still black? Nótt said it would turn back. I swear upon the spirits.”

 

Were these the words she had wanted to say when she had opened her mouth? Darcy was not sure. But before she could open her mouth again and see if what came out of that this time would maybe sound more like a peace offering, Sif had already spoken up.

 

“It did turn back, and I did deserve it. I am here to… apologize.”

 

Darcy blinked, confused. She heard the apology, and she was sure she should reply with a dignified phrase that she had been taught, but her mind was too focused on the first part of that sentence. “But why is it still black then?”

 

In an almost self-conscious gesture, Sif reached up to her ponytail, and brushed one hand through it. “I had it changed back by my mother.” Her expression was … incredibly solemn. “It shall serve as a reminder. For years, I blamed this court on insulting my honour, in not giving me a chance. Last night, I insulted yours, and tainted mine own, in not giving _you_ your fair chance.” And then, in one swift motion, Sif bowed. It was not a dainty female curtsy, nor a mock gesture. “For the remainder of my days I shall seek to erase that taint. Hereby, I pledge by the spirits.”

 

Sif’s word’s carried in the empty room, with its raised ceiling and the golden table, that had yesterday been filled with ceremonies and formalities. This felt oddly heavier. It made Darcy shift uneasy, for a moment. She was not sure how she was to reply to this. And when Sif rightened herself, she shrugged, and nodded, and said the first thing that came to her mind. “Well, taint or not, it does look good on you.”

 

Sif’s smile now was not as easy as the one she had given the servant, but it was a start, but Darcy figured it was a good start. “Thank you.”

 

For a moment, there was an awkward silence. Darcy had just made up her mind to ask the other if she wanted to break her fast with her, but Sif became fidgety now. “I did not come here to simply ask your forgiveness for yesterday. Nor did I come to ask that we shall become friends. It would be a lie to say that it would be this simple. But I came to offer reparations, for my injustice.”

 

Reparations? Sif had her forgiveness, and she would probably have been willing to give even the friendship a try. Though she surely would not force it upon the other. But what could that other offer entail?

 

And then, Sif put one hand upon her hip. There was a sword. Darcy looked at it, and could barely keep her face to form an expression of horror. If Sif noticed, she didn’t let it show. “If you would have it, I would offer my help in your training with the sword.”

 

Inwardly, Darcy groaned. First Thor had offered, then Alaric had forced himself upon her, and now this. But how could she turn that offer down? Yesterday, Sif had accused her of not even trying. She was reluctant to prove her right. And besides, who knew? Maybe Sif could do seidr after all, and do what the others had failed at so far.

 

“It would be my honor. But not before breakfast.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm the worst, this should have been the update for December 13th! What is happening?! I had all of this mapped out neatly.   
> This was the last update for Chapter II. Hopefully tomorrow I'll bring you Darcy after the time-skip. Progress, right?  
> And after last chapter's surprises I hope this chapter calmed everyone's nerves. It was absolutely and shameless wish-fullfillment.


	18. Chapter III - 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of the importance of foreign relations.

 

**Chapter 3**

   _________________________________________________________________________________________

**There are few more certain tokens of ill than not to know how to accept the good.**  
Fátt vísara til ills en kunna eiga gott að þiggja.

_The Saga of Grettir the Strong, chapter 78_

__________________________________________________________________________________________

** 1   
**

__________________________________________________________________________________________

_The first time that Darcy willfully stole away from the palace, she went no further than to the woods in the north. Though she had sworn that she would find one of the old ways of travel that she had read about, she had to overcome her fear of the new. She returned many times, before she dared to venture further, but her desire for freedom conquered her fear. What she also did during one of these visits was to tame a horse for herself for the first time. She named it Sjálfvili – free will, after his and her own._

 ________________________________________________________________________________________

 

The gardens of Asgard had always been a visual representation of Yggdrasil and the nine realms. There were ten parts, nine for all realms, and one for all the worlds beyond that were in an alliance to Asgard. And in each part, there were plants gifted to Asgard by the realms – or, in the old days, claimed after a long battle, as Darcy’s teacher had been always ready to remind.

 

The garden meant the growing together and growing strong in a metaphorical union of the fauna of different realms. When she strolled through these parts, as she did now, she liked to name each plant that she saw in her head, and try to imagine the realms that each plan was from. She felt closer to Yggdrasil here, and more free, than anywhere else.

 

And long since had it come to be Darcy’s favorite place of the palace – though not strictly part of the palace – to be in. There was wonderful flower from Vanaheim that glowed softly in the dark, and there was a moss covering a stony statue, from Nilfheim, that smelled almost sickly sweet. From Álfheim there were trees that only blossomed if someone sung to them, and from Muspelheim were herbs that no fire could burn.

 

In the center of all the parts was what Darcy herself deemed the heart of the garden, and the plant with which it had started. A golden Tree, as old as Asgard itself, from what Darcy knew. Some scholars believed that it had been there when the light elves, the dark elves and the Aesir had still been one people, under the care of the spirits of the thread. Before they had left the realm, they gad given this tree as a gift, and pledged that as long as this tree grew and bore fruit, this realm would prosper.

 

Tradition was important to the Aesir, so among each generation there always was one Ásynja chosen as keeper of the tree, and the fruit it bore. This generations keeper was Iðunn, but Darcy could not say how long she would remain to uphold this duty. She was chosen when Odin had still been young, and appeared no day older then Darcy herself now. Some said it was, because the keeper of the tree and the tree itself became one. Other said that it really was the seidr of the spirits who chose the keeper.

 

Darcy was inclined to believe in a little bit of both. Whenever she sat under the tree, she thought she could hear voices whispering in its leaves. Sometimes she just closed her eyes, and tried to make out even one word of these whispers, that appeared to her to be in a language much older than her own.

 

Most of the garden seemed to speak its own language. One day, she might have to learn it, as her father had reminded her today. Traditionally, it was the duty of a queen or a princess of Asgard to take care of the rest of the garden and raise it, foster growth, add new seeds to it. For now, her mother carried this duty. But even if Baldur became king, and married, this duty might pass to her.

 

That is, if she were to marry within this realm. Or if she and her future husband would chose to remain at this court. The thought made her pause, just as she reached the centre, and stared up at the tree. The memory of the talk she had with her father made her ball her fists. The echo of his words made her crouch down at the roots of the tree, with the desire to bury her face at its bark. The idea of marriage made her shudder.

 

It was not that she was unwilling to marry one day. As a little girl, she had entertained ideas of dashing princes to sweep off their feet, and having someone with whom she could be as strongly connected as her father and her mother were. As a little girl, love had been a central part of her future. But as a little girls, she had also dreamed of the possibility of being a queen some day.

 

Darcy was not a little girl anymore. She was a woman. Her birthday would be in three months time, and she would be of marrying age. And she was, after all, a princess of asgard. Never a queen, despite what her father liked to claim, but forever a princess. She had a duty to her people. One day, marriage would become one of these duties as well.

 

She would make a political match, with at least a member of royal blood, but most likely one of the princes of another realm. Maybe from Muspelheim, one of the fire giants, hardly more civilized than their jötunn-cousins, but of a strong and prosperous realm. Possibly one of the Dökkálfr, the dwarfs, who were not as strongly aligned with Asgard as they used to be. Most likely from Vanaheim, two which half of her blood already belonged, and whose people would be the ones to welcome her the most with open hearts.

 

Then again, Darcy thought, not even able to keep the bitterness from her own thoughts, it all depended on who Thor be betrothed to, would it not? Baldur would have an Aesir bride, to be sure, because father hoped he could tie him to Asgard, finally. Darcy may still be young, but she was not stupid. Father had called Baldur home for almost all festive, and had made sure that her brother mingled with the people – the young Ásynjur – of his age.

 

So maybe if Thor got a Vanr as a Bride, father could ship her off to somewhere else. She heard that he and King Oropher had a bit of an argument during the last Gates of Summer, maybe he could sell her to that one. How good for him.

 

Darcy felt like hitting the tree just to let out her frustration in any way possible, but she didn’t. She got up again, and stomped – yes, she stomped – to a stone bench opposite of the tree. There she lied down, on her back, staring at the dawning sky. Not like a princess should. But it didn’t matter anyway. Whatever she did would not change her future, nor what she was. Her shot at being a queen would be to marry. Not how well she conducted herself, not how brilliantly she handled any political guests, not how wonderful she handled her gift of seidr, or how bravely she could swing a sword would matter. _She_ didn’t matter. Nor what she wanted.

 

At least Thor got the chance to be out there, in the realms, and prove his worth in battle. Right now he was somewhere that she didn’t even know, travelling the realms one at a time, fighting his way through them and gaining glory. Fandral, Hogun and Volstag were with him as well, and many more of those that she would name her former companions.

 

Even Sif was out there, though not even father knew that yet – probably, if he hadn’t send one of his ravens to watch Thor’s prowess. Sif had only told her one day before Thor’s party had left – almost a year ago now – that she would rise early in the morrow, and mix herself among his shield brothers. Only once they had left through the bifröst, and only after she had a chance to prove herself in a fight, would she reveal herself – when no one could question her right to be there anymore.

 

As much as Darcy wished the other luck, she wished she had half of that chance as well. Darcy raised one of her hands towards the bleeding red sky, grasping at something that not even she herself could see. All she saw where her own pale hands, so frail and so utterly useless.

 

And then she saw a slim face, that leaned over her. Strong jaw line, unbelievable cheekbones, and pointed ears. And one raised eyebrow. “My lady. You are up early.”

 

“Lord Elhadron. Good morning,” Darcy sat up with a little too much impetus, and felt dizzy for a moment, but pulled her morning coat closer in an instinctual reaction. Which was the usual reaction she had to the ambassador from Álfheim. She always felt underdressed and almost a bit … ugly, in his presence.

 

Even now, before the rising of the sun and in comfortable clothing, he looked impeccable. His silken, brown hair was already partially braided, and there was no fold in his clothing out of place. His manners, too, were spot on. He did not even give her a once over for her casual state of dress, and her probably very ruffled hair. All he did was bow beautifully, and then sit down on the other side of the bench. “A good morning in your beautiful presence indeed.”

 

The ambassador from Álfheim had arrived together with her Uncle a couple of days ago, and was the first of the light elves that Darcy spend more time with. Though technically, Elhadron was only half of light elf blood, and the other half Áss, from what he had told her of himself. That was why he made such a good ambassador, probably. Her Uncle Vé had mentioned in the passing that Elhadron was probably only slightly older than her, but already a skilled politician in the realms. For an elf, he was very… diplomatic? Not that Darcy knew what that meant. She could only judge by proxy.

 

But if all elves were even half as nice as Elhadron –and yes, half as good looking as well, she had to admit – then she should probably hope that her father would indeed sell her to King Oropher.

 

She found that she had made an excellent friend in him. And part of that was his natural gift for sarcasm. Like this last, dry remark. Darcy laughed, despite the gloomy thoughts that had kept her up for most of the night, and had turned dreams into nightmares. “My blinding beauty and I thank you for that compliment. You would look like this as well, if you were to be kept awake by the servants swooning over the Ljósálfar Embassy.”

 

“No I would not,” he replied, before pulling his legs up, and getting in a more comfortable, cross-legged sitting position.

 

Darcy rolled her eyes, but replied nothing. Instead, she looked at the old tree. Again, she thought she could hear the leaves whispering. And then Elhadron started singing quietly to her, and to himself. Darcy closed her eyes, and was grateful to forget her own worries for just another few moments.

 

  

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry that my plans for this fanfiction didn't work out so far guys. But it absolutely will be finished, it's the top priority of January 2016. The two Fic Exchanges I participated in just had to be done by a deadline.  
> And that deadline is me leaving in 9 hours; for five days, on my first holiday for about five years. Urgh. I'm sorry?
> 
> But at least today I can give you two parts of Chapter 3. And I'm almost sure that Uru will like them. There's Elves.


	19. Chapter III - 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of old knowledge and the desire for freedom.

 

** 2 **

 ________________________________________________________________________________________

 

_The first time Darcy leaves the heart of Asgard she goes to Vanaheim. The old way to it is through swamps, and it takes considerable energy just to allow herself to sink through it. But once she does, it is worth the experience. Vanaheim is not all new to her, she has seen it before, and knows it from her mother’s tales. This is the place she could have grown up. She goes there and explores the rural parts of it, where no one would know he, countless times, before she ever tries to find a passage to another realm._

 ________________________________________________________________________________________

 

As with most days, Darcy spend hers studying first, later dining with mother, then with a brief visit by Nótt and Sigyn, and the afternoon with the ambassador. The morning of this day seemed to be a particularly slow one. Admittedly, she would like to spend more of her days with Elhadron.

 

Of all the realms, she was the most fascinated by Álfheim and Midgard. The later probably, because it was considered forbidden, and a realm so young. The former most likely because it seemed to be the one that father tried the most to keep an alliance with. It made her wonder what that realm was able to do.

 

And, though she would never tell someone that, aside from maybe Nótt, her interest in the realm had grown in the company of the Elhadron. He was not the first ambassador to seek and make friends with her. It had been something she had learned early; people would always be willing to seek the friendship of the princess first, because they expected her to be easily swayed by pretty words.

 

But though the light elf certainly knew his way with words, he did not seek anything from her. He had not implied that he wished to court her, nor that his realm or his king had any desire of her. He had not tried to share a secret, or complain about her father. He had not asked her help in anything.

 

Of all the ambassadors so far, he simply seemed to seek her out for company, and possibly for an interest in the person who was considered a possible match for his own prince in a future that she wished not think about.

 

But that was an interest that she could understand. She herself had asked many questions about his realm, and the people who lived there. Many hours they had spent sitting in the garden, under the Great Tree, where he told her of the golden, the green and the red forests of Álfheim. He told her of their courtly life, which was in many aspects very different from her own, but not as vastly as she would have expected.

 

He told her tales of his king, a very musical person, and a great tactician. A man of many faces, too, for he could be soft and kind as well as stern and furious. His wife was a very wise woman, a proud warrior of their people. And their son, the prince, had her fair hair. He also had no qualms to tell her that the prince was a somewhat rebellious youth, not much older than she was, and very eager to find out what was beyond their realm.

 

Even more interesting for her was to hear that her Uncle, Vé, was considered a good friend of the king. Though King Oropher was not known to trust easily, he appreciated a quick and bright mind. He had even admitted her Uncle to serve as a teacher in many aspects for his own son, which was considered a great honor. Darcy wondered why Vé had never mentioned it before.

 

But her favorite hours were those when the sun was beginning to set. Elhadron always seemed to grow melancholic in these hours, and he would tell her those tales, that were among his people usually told to young children. Fairytales, and myths, of their ancestors.

 

Darcy felt no shame in admitting that these tales of great loves, and tragic battles, captured her, and made her interested in learning more of the culture.

 

She did feel a bit of shame when Elhadron promised that he would advise his king to seek a visit from her in his realm, so she might see it. For Darcy had seen it. Not the court, or the golden forest, or even the green forest. But she had seen the red forest, once.

 

It was her best kept secret. It belonged to the part of her days that belonged solely to her; a part of her night. When she would cloak herself in seidr, and go to the stables, where her horse Sjálfvili would already be waiting for her. Sometimes, Geri and Freki would come with her as well, though she never forced them too. They had been her father’s wolves first, and were still bound by loyalty – it seemed wrong to ask them to accompany her when she betrayed her father’s trust.

 

But the temptation was too great. Almost each night, she would reach for her wooden chest; where she kept what she needed for her adventures. In the garment that she usually wore for her instructions with weaponry – pants, and high leather boots, and a loose shirt that were bound tightly around her wrists; garments that she would never be allowed to wear in any other situation – she would cloak herself, leaving behind the princess. And once she reached the stables, she rode like the wind.

 

Darcy rode past the city, into the simple parts of Asgard; rode into the places of old, where once their ancestors had lived before the city and the palace had been build; in the days before the bifröst. Where the seidr was still part of this realm.

 

And there were those paths that she had read of, in the library, years ago. Paths that opened for those who were willing to seek, to see, and who could command them. And she could. She knew of the paths in the swamps, of the caves among the roots of an ancient tree, of the rivers coming from a hidden spring. She had explored many ways, though not all of them yet.

 

The path to Álfheim had been one of the tree-caves, and one that had been hidden particularly well. Only this year had she gone through it for the first time, and found herself in the heart of the red forest. She had dwelled close to her pathway, because she was too worried that she would not find the one tree that would allow her to go back among the other trees later.

 

But just sitting in this strange forest, and tasting the air rich with unknown smells had been enough for her that day. She had been content.

 

Though, when she heard Elhadron speak of the beauty of his realm, she longed to return there. See more of it. Seek out this magical spring that he spoke of, and see the palace that looked at night as if it was made of pure moonlight. She longed to hear the singing of the golden trees, and taste the fruit of the green ones.

 

She longed for Álfheim. Though, she had to say, she longed to be in many of the other realms as well. She longed to be away from Asgard, and that was it. That was what she really desired.

 

And it was not much, was it? Thor had been allowed to leave. Baldur was more away than he was here. And father had not been able to bring Baldur back so far. So what could he possibly do to detain her? If she got up, and informed her father of her choice, she could be free.

 

But she knew that this would hurt mother. And that was what Darcy could not bring herself to do. If the only way to get her freedom was to selfishly destroy her mothers happiness, she could not bring herself to do it.

 

So she was limited to secrecy. To only roam this realm, and what little she found she could reach of other realms. For now. One day, this would have to change – either by marriage, or if she ever was willing to force her fathers hand.

 

Now this day had not quite come.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you're wondering - yes, there is a reason that I allowed Darcy to find these passages quite early in her life. I might tell you later, or Darcy will just have to show you.
> 
> Also, yaye for lots and lots of LotR-references for Uru <3 If there were an AU of this AU, it would be Darcy actually being shipped of to Álfheim to meet and marry Oropher's son, Thranduil, because my deares Uru is the queen of that ship. It's not about to happen here, but who knows. I can now easily create a spin-off for her, if she so wishes ;)
> 
> Ah, and if you'd like to know, you can Darcy imagine to be a teenager here. She's fifteen-sixteen, in human age.


End file.
